


Lucid Dream

by Somebody_Someone



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (not often though), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Background Relationships, Closeted Character, Coma, Depression, Dreams, Emotionally Repressed, Hanzo has feelings, I dunno how to tag things, Insomnia, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Medication, Mild Language, Multi, My First Fanfic, Noodle Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overwatch - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Partners to Lovers, Poetry, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Symbolism, The Worst Coffee on Earth, Violence, hanzo is done with everything and everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:40:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 208,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somebody_Someone/pseuds/Somebody_Someone
Summary: Years ago he was a successful writer, and now he is struggling to get by every single day. Between art block, depression, insomnia and a comatose brother, Hanzo is constantly hanging on by his fingernails.One day, he finds solace in the strangest shape; lucid dreams of a most unwelcoming land where he meets a terribly frustrating cowboy, gets in deep trouble and goes on a quest for a mysterious treasure. With the insufferable cowboy as his guide.The journey will be long, scattered with obstacles and dangers, but may it be enlightened by the unexpected blooming of a friendship and perhaps something deeper.





	1. Sodium Lights

**Author's Note:**

> First fiction I ever published. I'm so nervous about it!
> 
> I have hitched a ride on the Overwatch train just last year and invaded the McHanzo wagon quite recently. I have been wanting to get more involved in this fandom for a while now.
> 
> The idea came to me from viewing this [artwork](http://bazel-tots.tumblr.com/post/152298761185/bazel-tots-so-i-have-an-outlandertime-travel).  
> This wonderful AU idea inspired me to the point I started writing a fic on my way to work.
> 
> After much thinking and hesitation, I decided to share it, even if English is not my native language, even if I do not play the game and risk making the characters act OOC (especially considering the AU setting).
> 
> I sincerely hope y'all enjoy reading my work!
> 
> Here's the [art](http://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/157413867371/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video) I made for the chapter!

Long hours of staring at his computer, body numb and mind stagnating, led Hanzo to believe that the untitled document page displayed on the screen was taunting him. He had opened it this morning, hoping he would manage to write anything that might pass as worthy to his editors' eyes.  
Time to time, an inspired spark made him raise his hands toward the keyboard and type the beginning of a sentence. But these little glimmers failed to catch on, and the aborted sentences were hurriedly erased out of frustration.

Leaning back against his chair, Hanzo pressed his palms against his sore eyes and let out a long sigh. The sharp migraine assaulting his brain was hard at work, the teas he had sipped all throughout the day not helping much. He suspected the headache to be a direct expression of sleep deprivation and the biting annoyance caused by the insultingly blank page.

He checked the time, a wave of tiredness flooding him when he realized it was almost 3 AM. He had been so caught up in trying to write, he had not seen the time fly by.  
To call it a night would be a reasonable move, but Hanzo was no fool.  
For the past years, his nights had consisted in lying awake, no matter how physically or mentally exhausted he was. Just lying on his futon, eyes wide open or closed to escape the sight of the monochrome ceiling, just as bland as this forsaken document.  
On the rare occasions he did manage to get a few hours of sleep, they provided little to no relief whatsoever, for they were unavoidably plagued with nightmares.

Haunting nightmares that would shake him to the core and push him closer to the tipping point.

Deciding that he had had enough for the night, Hanzo turned his laptop off and moved to the kitchen corner. Since his chances of getting a wink of sleep were rather dim, he might as well indulge himself with a tea plus a couple fruits, and watch whatever was on TV at such a late hour.  
Most of the times, these little pleasures kept him from completely falling apart during nights like these. It did not always work though…

 

–

_“Anija? Is something wrong?”  
Small pieces of laminated glass beneath his fingers. Hot air filling his lungs._

_Ankles painfully pinned beneath something. Sharp ache blazing through his skull like thunder.  
“Hanzo!”_

_Consciousness slipping away.  
“Hanzo, are you alright?”_

_A quake, a terrifying row of metal scrapping and broken glass, in which drowned a startled cry.  
“Hanzo wake up!!”_

–

Hanzo regained consciousness with a startling jolt, hands clutching the armrests of his seat and neck painfully crooked. He felt clammy, a thin layer of cold sweat coating his skin and remains of tears clinging to his eyelashes.  
The sodium bulbs from the streetlights flooded through the windows, bathing the flat in a faint, warm orange glow. But it did little to make the place look welcoming or cozy.  
The clock now indicated 5 AM. His mug sat half-empty next to a plate of orange peels. The television was still on, playing some kind of Western flick with cowboys shooting at each other from behind walls.  
He must have had fallen asleep shortly after finishing the orange, because he remembered viewing a documentary on birds... As usual, the rare peace he could find in small things was short-lived.

As he was to leave in roughly two hours, there was no use trying to fall back asleep. He might as well tidy up, take a good shower and a proper breakfast.  
With a frustrated sigh, he promptly turned the television off, gathered the dishes and moved to the kitchen corner.

–

It had not always been like this.

Almost exactly four years back, Hanzo had been on top of his game. Several Bestsellers per year, in multiple categories for he had experimented different styles and genres out of curiosity.  
A month or two had been all he needed to produce another novel for his editors to praise upon and deliver to an avid public. The Overwatch Editions could not have been prouder of their star writer, who had come a long way from Japan with his little brother.

The Shimada brothers, disowned by their Yakuza family, had arrived with nothing but the clothes on their back, a few possessions and little money from their savings. The two of them had worked hard, got through small jobs, ups and downs, until they had both been able to stop worrying about putting bread on their table and focus on their passions.

While Hanzo's was writing, Genji's was drawing. His little brother had illustrated a fair amount of children stories, turned freelance and got monthly hired for commissions. Contracts had not always come in regularly, but it had only made him double his investment in each one of his works.

Hanzo had owned a large condo in the heart of the city, a car and enough money to unlimitedly support Genji when his little brother's month ends were difficult. Their relationship had been rocky at best, Genji inevitably envious of his big brother's success and Hanzo annoyed by his little brother's hard partying.

He had been successful once. Not perfectly happy, or satisfied with what he had. But somewhat content.  
Until the accident.

The condo was gone now, sold in exchange of a rented flat much more modest and at the very borders of the agglomeration.  
It was alright though, he did not really need space or comfort.

While it did force Hanzo to rely on public transportations to his utter displeasure, he forbad himself to complain. The car was gone too and he would not buy another one; that would constitute a useless expense since he would never drive again. The time spent on the trains and buses amounted to three to four hours going back and forth whenever he had to go to the city, and that was with a normal traffic sans technical problems or suspicious package alerts.  
It was alright though, he rarely went out these days.

Of all the things he used to own, only a few priceless possessions remained. No decorations, his flat almost completely bare. Only a few photos of Genji and him hung on the blue walls, along with a group shot of the Overwatch Editions staff. They used to make a small part of his relations, now they were the only ones left.  
It was alright though, solitude was better lived than awkward interactions weighted down with his dying social skills.

He hardly wrote anymore, going through periods of shallow creativity to spells devoid of any inspiration. In four years, he had not produced a single novel, or even a short story.  
What kept the money coming were the poems he wrote for the weekly journal his editors printed. That was their pity solution to assure Hanzo an income, so he could survive through the blank page months. Even though months had turned into years, they had never gone back on their word. The resulting salary was a joke compared to what he used to earn with his books, from which he hardly benefited nowadays.  
It was alright though, every penny felt rightly deserved and was mindfully spent.

The writer not only struggled with his passion rotting away, he also faced severe depression, anxiety that kept him awake through the nights, and guilt that dug deeper and deeper into his core.  
He kept it bottled-up, hidden behind a cold and stern mask he had perfected throughout childhood. Yet no matter how well he concealed it, the turmoil was there, constantly ablaze and never losing strength.  
More than once he had wanted to drown it all down with saké until he got numb, or with any alcohol he could find really. But the liquor was an expense in itself; he needed every penny of his income and he had to remain sober in order to write.  
It was alright though…

He deserved the harsh, permanent burn.  
He deserved all of it.


	2. All in a day's work pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title : Hanzo's Life Sucks™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the title, this chapter is in two parts. Initially I was going to post it in its entirety, but it is a good 5k words so yeah.
> 
> On the plus side, that second part will be out pretty soon :>
> 
> I would like to thank once again everybody who commented, plus all the peeps who left kudos. I am a very insecure person and can hardly put into words how much your support helps me.
> 
> I sincerely hope y'all keep on enjoying this journey :D
> 
> Here's the [art](http://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/157747949951/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video)  
> I made for the chapter!

Once per week, namely on Mondays, Hanzo had to return to the city in order to visit a string of people all in the same day. On these occasions, he would follow a strict schedule to visit all the persons he needed to see before returning back to the suburb as soon as possible and staying there the rest of the week.

The writer hated public transports with a passion. Whether they were subways, trains or buses, they were often filthy, noisy, uncomfortable and inhumanly crowded during the rush hours. After a few difficult travels, Hanzo had been quick to find the right reflexes ; find an isolated seat to be undisturbed during the ride, then stand up a couple stations before his actual stop to make it through the clump of people and reach the doors.

If transports brought him anything besides making up for his lack of car, it made him appreciate the moment he was back on the streets. Of course it was an ephemeral satisfaction, for the streets of the city were just too lively. But a sense of satisfaction nonetheless.

Thankfully his travels amounted to four-five times per month. Groceries were usually done at the local shops near his flat. They did not have much variety to offer, but Hanzo was not difficult. He ate simple dishes, sometimes just plain rice when his budget was too slim to afford anything else.

When he reached the large Overwatch building, he stayed by the entrance a few minutes just to get a breather and let go of the tension spurred by transports. A few employees were smoking nearby, but he resisted the temptation of borrowing them a smoke.

–

Gabriel and Jack Morrison-Reyes were sitting at their desk, their attention focused on Hanzo's submission while the writer just waited for their verdict in a silence heavy with anticipation.

The two had been in charge of his novels ever since he first joined the publishers. Back then Morrison had been more of an assistant beneath Reyes, until a few well-deserved promotions had placed him at his superior's level.

The staff used to joke often about how they always acted like an old couple. They did absolutely everything together, hell they shared the same office and pretty much the same desk! Their relationship had taken many turns, sometimes to the worst, sometimes to the better. Two wolves eyeing one another until one of them jumped at the other's throat or confessed the depth of his feelings to the other. No one knew which one of the two caved first.  
They had wedded a few years after Hanzo's arrival, he even had attended at the ceremony.

The two men were a strange pair, a living representation of the Yin and Yang from Hanzo's point of view. They did have a few points in common, yet completed each other through their differences.  
While Morrison was a passionate man with diplomatic skills, Reyes was a strong and serious leader who never went to anything else but the point.  
Brashness however was his forte, and he often came out too abrasive.

Gabriel rested the poem, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. In spite of his difficulties at reading people, it was quite clear for Hanzo that the editor was not pleased.  
“Listen pendejo.” He started, hands joined on the desk. “Saying you've gone through rough times is putting it lightly. But it has been four years now, you've got to shape up and pull your shit together! I'm not saying the poem's bad, it's very good…” He exchanged a glance with Jack, who nodded in agreement and invited him to carry on. “But it is just so damn sad! Hell it's even sadder than all its priors. Did you have a rough week or something?”

Hanzo remained still, his hands discreetly clenching the fabric of his sleeves. He had gone through several nightmares in a short time, the next always worse than its predecessor. All of them centered around the accident, yet none allowing him to remember the entire event.  
The poem had been one of the many to serve as a way to externalize the resulting turmoil.  
It was also the only thing he could write about when he had no absolutely no idea for the topic.

As the writer was definitely not going to answer or meet their eyes, Jack knew he had to intervene.  
“Have you attended Zenyatta's sessions? What did you think of them?” He asked, with one of his legendary smiles. To say that the man's charm could prevent a war was hardly an exaggeration.

With the healthcare policy of Overwatch Editions, the staff and involved artists had a doctor and a psychiatrist assigned to assist them with physical and mental issues.  
Visiting them was not mandatory, and Hanzo did have a doctor monitoring him ever since the accident. However, with the rough times Hanzo had gone through, he was now obligated to visit a psychiatrist in addition.

The checkups with Dr. Amari were practical, but the therapy sessions he had to endure with Zenyatta Tekhartha were time-consuming, annoying and useless. They consisted in group meetings where everyone could introduce themselves and openly talk about their problems, before ending on a moment of meditation and 'recalibration'.  
None of it suited Hanzo. He had no wish to interact with the others, and reaching a relaxed state was impossible with the amount of thoughts and emotions swirling in his head. There was no spotting the flow, and swimming against it was exhausting.  
If his presence was obligatory, his participation was thankfully not.

“I have. They are-” A perplexing, frustrating waste of time and energy “-interesting.” Hanzo replied dryly, his displeasure hardly veiled. Jack nodded, seeming satisfied with his curt answer or at least politely pretending to be. Gabriel was obviously not, his face screaming 'not buying your crap'. Whether his superiors/friends bought the lie or not, Hanzo cared little; he found their involvement in his health to be a nosy, unwelcome intrusion in his privacy.

“Are we done?” He asked, already standing up. His headache was coming back with a vengeance, and he yearned to leave the building before the other members of the publishing house saw him.  
“Yeah… As depressing as this shit is, I'll send it to the journal.” Gabriel grunted, putting the poem aside. “Before you leave though, we've got a request.”  
Jack rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a small package, carefully wrapped in paper craft. He handed it to the perplexed writer. “I am aware this must be difficult for you, but Gabriel and I would be so grateful if you could bring this to Genji.”

Hanzo's blood turned cold and every muscle in his body seized up. It took a great deal of his self-control not to let any of his tension transpire. “Why not do it yourself?” He retorted before he could stop himself, fingers clenching around the package and slightly wrinkling its wrapping.

“We've all got too much work on our hands, and sending it through the post just feels impersonal.” Reyes countered. “Is it inconvenient for your schedule?”  
Hanzo nearly scoffed. The editor was more than aware of how void his schedule was. “No, it is not.” He muttered, shoving the package inside his bag and leaving without further interactions.

–

“Hanzo!”  
On his way out, his wish of not being caught by anyone he knew was sadly overthrown; as soon as he left his editors' office, an familiar young woman had turned the corner.  
Before he could quickly slip away into the elevator or take the fire exit, Hana leaped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck.  
“It has been so long! I'm sure you must have forgotten about me…  
-Trust me miss Song, that would be very difficult to achieve.”

Hana Song had joined Overwatch Editions a couple years after the Shimada brothers, at the young age of 17. She was a Korean artist, renowned for the colorful short stories she wrote, drew and published out on her website.  
She had a strong, dynamic personality that made her look a lot younger. It could be grating at times, but she always pulled the strings of Hanzo's heart somehow. Perhaps it was the similarities she shared with Genji.

“How are you holding up Han?” She hummed, releasing him and jumping from one foot to another. Before his sullen expression, she frowned. “Writer's block still? Have you not tried my special cure?  
\- And what was it again? I cannot recall.” The writer grunted, not in the mood to deal with her peppiness. The last time he had talked to her had to be a month ago, when he had bothered to show undisguised at her Halloween party out of curtesy. If one would guess he did not linger very long, they would be right about it.

“My homemade remedy for art/writer's block.” Hana whispered, waving at him to lower his voice. “Anyone can do it! You think of the last thing you saw on TV or on the Internet and you try to do something based on it. It's really that simple!  
\- And quite silly I dare say.” The writer teased. “That explains why so many of your stories are nonsensical.  
\- That is exactly what you said back when I first told you about it. Word for word.” She pouted, giving his shoulder a small punch. “You should give it a try still. That actually got me through some tough times, where I could not even draw a Dorito!”

Hanzo wanted to make a firm statement about how much he did not want to do such a thing. But how could he do so in the young woman's face when she was trying hard to be helpful? He had never done anything kind for her, yet she would always persist.  
“… Perhaps I will give it a shot.” The writer muttered. Hana's face turned bright so quickly he worried she may shout out. And she did.  
“Aw, yeah! Seriously though, you owe me big time if it works.” She winked, elbowing him in the side. “If you tried it right now, what would you have to write about?”

Hanzo remembered his uncomfortable awaking to the sound of guns and horses. His face must have betrayed his disgust, for Hana chuckled. “That bad?  
\- The last thing I saw was a western flick…” He admitted, fiddling with his bag.  
“So? You've never written anything western-related to my knowledge... Which is a bit surprising considering you've been switching genres like socks. Why not write a western for a change?”  
\- Because westerns are _tacky_.” The writer bluntly cut. “Hana, it was good to see you. But I must take my departure. I will see you another day... Thank you for your advice.”

The young woman immediately sobered up and hugged him again, giving his back a gentle pat before she let go. “You're welcome Hanzo... If you do write about cowboys though, you'll have to dedicate your novel to me! And I'll do an illustration for the cover!”

–

The Mercy hospital in itself was not the direct cause of Hanzo's discomfort. It did certainly contribute to it, but it would be far more tolerable if it were not for a certain Angela Ziegler. Genji had been her patient from day one after the accident, and her demeanor toward Hanzo had yet to improve. From the moment the two brothers had been brought to the ER, she had held him in contempt. And the worst had to be hers having good reasons to.

“Mister Shimada.” She soberly acknowledged upon his arrival to her service. After being overwhelmed by Gabriel's brashness and Hana's friendliness, Hanzo found her chilling attitude almost refreshing.  
Stone-cold face, piercing glare, forward, disdain hidden in her voice, blatantly on guard; that was what he should be getting from everybody, instead of ill-disguised pity.

“Doctor Ziegler.” He replied amiably, with an equivalent lack of warmth.  
“What is your business here? It seems you are… Ten days earlier than your usual monthly visit.” There was no pity or concern aimed at him, and he was almost thankful for that.  
“I have come to give my brother a package.” He replied, discreetly tilting his chin up. Angela was about his height, but her high heels made her easily taller; it enervated him.

The woman's thin eyebrows quirked up. She could afford to be surprised; to her knowledge, Hanzo had never bothered to bring Genji anything before.  
“… From Gabriel Morrison-Reyes.” He clarified nervously, trying to refrain from fidgeting with the straps of his bag. He could only tolerate being around Angela for a short while. Whether it was voluntarily or not, she had the power of fueling his inner storm.

“I see. Pardon me if I do not walk you to his room, I have patients to attend. You know the way.” She replied, her surprise gone as quickly as it came. Without further discussion, she walked past Hanzo and disappeared into a patient's room.

“Of course…” He whispered, even though she had already left.  
He should not let her trample all over him. A few years ago, he would not have tolerated such an affront. But then he had stopped being himself since the accident.

–

Genji's room was a floor higher, window overlooking the inner garden of the hospital. Colorful bouquets of flowers decorated the room, some withered, some fresh. The bedside table had a pile of flashy cards stacked in a precarious pile; wishes of full recovery, happy holidays, New Year celebrations, happy birthdays… All of these came from Genji's large circle of friends.  
One item came from Hanzo, a Japanese talisman, snuck in and safely hidden in the lockable drawer of the bedside table. The charm carried his wish for his comatose brother to wake up; it was the only gift he thought was adequate.

Despite the few centimeters he had on Hanzo, Genji seemed so frail, so small in his hospital bed. A tube was fixed to his throat, an IV hooked in the crook of his arm and various sensors monitoring his stats. His pale skin was littered with pinkish, jagged scars. Some of them were leftovers of the numerous surgical interventions he had gone through for his broken bones and damaged organs.  
His hair had grown, but the locks still held remains of that awful green dye he had groomed since his rebellious-teenager phase .

A fresh wave of pain washed over Hanzo, the writer having to lean against the doorway to maintain his balance. When he found the strength to move, he dragged a chair next to his brother's bed and sat down, hands carefully cupping the one resting on the sheets.

During his first visits, Hanzo had forced himself to speak to his little brother. “There is a chance he can hear you.” Angela had said. “It could do him some good.”  
Hanzo had doubted that, of all people, his voice would bring Genji any comfort. After all, he had put him there. He still had tried, clinging onto the hope that it would stimulate his brother enough to wake him up.

But as the weeks passed and turned into months, the one-sided conversation had brought him nothing but sufferance, words withering and fading like leaves in Autumn.  
From that point, Hanzo had remained silent for most of his visits, only allowing himself to hold Genji's hand or brush his hair when a lock was out of place.

On bad days, the sight alone of his unconscious brother moved him to tears, tears that he would try to contain until it became physically impossible.  
On good days, he sorted through the bouquets, throwing away the withered flowers and changing the water of the remaining ones.

Today was not a bad day, but it certainly was not a good one. The meeting with Gabriel and his encounter with Angela were still eroding him, although seeing Hana did brighten his mood up by a notch.

After holding Genji's hand for a few minutes, Hanzo grabbed his bag and pulled the package out. In case the present was a perishable good, he opened it to check the content.  
When the item revealed itself to be a book, his curiosity was more than ticked. Hanzo flipped the paper casing upside-down, carefully catching the book in his palm.  
A soft gasp escaped his lips when he saw the cover.

He knew this book, he was extremely familiar with it.

The Dragon who wanted to be a Sparrow, by the Shimada brothers. Written by Hanzo, illustrated by Genji.  
Their first and only co-project, their first work distributed by Overwatch Editions. It had been released in a small amount of copies and was now considered as a rarity. Having it in his hands felt surreal for the writer; he had sold his own copy to pay for his brother's medical bills.

Inside the book, there was a small hand-written note. Hanzo recognized Gabriel's thick scrawl, Jack's modest script and Hana's undecipherable Korean inscription along with the doodle of a bunny chasing carrot.  
'This is one of the few copies left of the 1st edition. When you return, we will re-edit the story with your latest illustrations for a new release. We miss you all and hope you will wake up soon. Best regards, Jack'  
'You better get your ass out of bed or I'll come and kick it awake. Gabriel.'  
On the back of the card, there were more words from other colleagues. Hanzo did not bother reading them, Jack's and Gabriel's were more than enough.

A mixture of contrasting emotions ran through him as he gently flipped the pages of the book, fondly brushing the drawings. Genji's style had improved after this first project, but it had always retained the sweet childishness and delicate watercolors that had animated his debuts.

The story centered on a dragon lizard that had the strangest and strongest desire in the world ; he wanted to become a sparrow. While the other lizards eyed him with contempt and pestered him for being so foolish, he still would strive in his efforts to resemble a bird, going as far as rolling into mud and sticking feathers onto his body. His brother would observe from afar, unsure whether he should support him or agree with his reptilian peers.  
After a peculiarly harsh failure in his attempts of becoming a bird, the poor dragon lizard started to despair and drift afar.  
Upon witnessing the lizard's self-deprecation, his brother made his decision; renouncing the approval of his peers, he followed the lizard and helped him become a sparrow. Together they gathered the most beautiful feathers they could find and carefully glued them onto the lizard's body.  
Their hard work lasted until rain fell and removed most of the feathers. As the lizard could not be more distressed, the brother had cradled him and offered they kept on trying.

“Strive through adversity to become whoever you want to be, even when everything is pushing you down, for it is your nature and nature is not to be repressed.” Was the end moral.

Not the best work they ever made, but it had been a good way of coping with the separation from the Shimada-Gumi and their homeland, plus adapting to an entirely different country and culture. It had been a piece of cake for Genji, while the same could not be said about Hanzo. He had been groomed to take the lead of the yakuzas from birth, turning his back on his duties for the sake of his brother had been the hardest decision he ever had to take.

With a soft sigh, Hanzo closed the book and placed it back in the package to preserve it from dust. Then he placed it in the drawer of the bedside table, right next to the amulet.


	3. All in a day's work pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title : Hanzo's Life still Sucks™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's part 2!  
> Disclaimer: I would like to point out that I have no medical training whatsoever and will probably be inaccurate about lotsa stuff.
> 
> All these kudos and comments I can't believe I got ;A; thank you so much folks
> 
> I sincerely hope y'all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Here's the [art](http://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/157875722206/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video)  
> I made for the chapter!

All Hanzo had to do before he could return to the flat and remain there till next Monday, was paying a visit to Dr. Amari and attending Tekhartha's session.  
While he was not planning on getting invested at all in Zenyatta's therapy rituals or whatever these were, he truly needed to see his doctor. He could not go on with the insomnia any longer; not only it affected his ability to write furthermore than it was, but the lack of sleep was becoming intolerable.

Concentrating had become horribly difficult after a few sleepless nights, Hanzo's brain too messed up and tired to keep up. The last thing he needed was to start hallucinating. He did not want to get there, he did not wish to have his nightmares chasing after him into reality.  
That, and he seriously needed to freshen his poems up. Gabriel was only so patient, he would certainly not tolerate another sadness effusion in the shape of a text as his next contribution.

Dr. Amari welcomed him warmly, like he was a family member. She even offered tea, which he politely declined; he could use a hot drink, but the one she made was way too sugary for his tastes.  
They sat down and she listened as he exposed his current problems.  
“And your depression? Any changes or developments over the past days?”  
She had often suggested different treatments for his depression and anxiety, but he had always ignored or denied her advices. Anything that was not life-threatening did not deserve attention or investment. 

“Same old.” He muttered wearily. “Can you prescribe me something for the insomnia?  
\- Considering you do have recurrent nightmares and that thinking is what keeps you awake, I suggest we give a try with benzodiazepines. These will guarantee a good sleep, though there are risks of developing side-effects. But there is nothing to worry about. Should you not handle this medication, you come back and we can search for alternative medication.” She smiled at Hanzo in a reassuring manner while writing down a prescription.

“What are these risks?” He asked, trying to decipher the doctor's mystifying handwriting.  
“You have to know that there are no sleeping pills that do not cause undesirable effects. Benzos for instance can provoke dependence, and you might develop a built-in tolerance after a certain time. Anterograde amnesia can also occur, with less common side effects such as nausea and changes in appetite, blurred vision, confusion, euphoria, depersonalization and nightmares. Others can cause grogginess during the day, or even cause you to wake up in the middle of the night..”

As Hanzo made quite a frown, she took a moment to adjust her hijab.  
“I can also put you under Melatonin if the side-effects worry you. It will not enforce sleep, but instead lead your body into sleeping. No side-effects, it is completely safe, .”  
The writer nodded thoughtfully; he was familiar with it, having taken some on a regular basis back in Japan. In his young years, the weight of the Shimada's legacy on his shoulders had regularly kept him awake at night.  
That weight had been lifted, but it did not hold a candle to the new one now pressing upon his heart. “… Melatonin will not do.” He replied, staring down at his hands. “I do feel tired most of the time but… I am either kept awake by my brain, or awaken by the nightmares.”

Ana simply took a sip of tea. “Alright then… I'm putting you under Benzodiazepine for two months, one take per night after dinner, not to mix under any circumstance with alcohol. We maintain the weekly checkups though, to make sure they are helping. However Mister Shimada...”  
She gazed straight into his eyes with her single one, the stare nailing him into the chair.  
“I would like to give you a warning. While these pills will help you sleep, they can only do so much. When insomnia is caused by factors such as anxiety, PTSD, depression, or a mixture of these as I strongly suspect for your case, getting sleep will not solve anything.”

Hanzo sustained the stare, his eyes growing dry from not blinking. “I am aware.” He retorted, snatching the prescription off her desk.

–

A little detour to the pharmacy made Hanzo arrive fifteen minutes late at Tekhartha's session. Not that pharmacist lacked efficiency. Fareeha Amari was just as professional as her mother; deciphering doctor's hazardous writings and fetching the box of pills in her vast storage was something she could do in a wink.  
She just had to ask him a few questions about her mother, since they were 'a bit too busy to catch up' as she put it, and the writer willingly engaged in small talk. Since the traffic was usually awful in the afternoon, he would have arrived after the beginning no matter what.

Zenyatta made no comment about his late arrival, smiling and politely waving at him. Hanzo replied with a stiff nod, taking a lone seat in the back row.  
While the monk resumed his speech, Hanzo took the time to read his prescription and the notice on the pills. While the Amaris had told him everything he needed to know about the dosage, restrictions and potential side-effects, it was more than reasonable to make sure he was well-informed. It had been some time since he last took any medication.

He was frowning at the list of undesirable effects when his name was suddenly called.  
“Hanzo?” Zenyatta's voice, no matter how much he despised the nearly robotic man, carried peace throughout the room. “Would you like to comment on the matter?”  
The writer having not listened a word to what had transpired, his reply was awkward at best. “No… I have nothing to say.”

These sessions were grating on his nerves. Had he skipped the meeting, he would have been halfway home by now. Instead he was stuck here for at least thirty more minutes.  
What kept him from actually doing so was the dread of Zenyatta reporting his absence, plus his complete refusal to collaborate, to Gabriel and Jack. That was enough of a motive to fire him, although he seriously doubted the two men would do something like this considering his miserable situation. 

His salary was just enough to keep up with Genji's medical bills and his own expenses. He had already foregone and sold most of his things just to have an extra buck for the sake of his brother's health. As for Genji's stuff, all of it was safely tucked into a few carton crates and stashed in his flat.  
As a result, Hanzo did not own anything valuable anymore. His mingle possessions consisted in cheap clothes, a functioning laptop, a TV too old to interest any buyers with a razor and a rice cooker (the rest of the household appliances had come with the flat), and a bow too precious for him to give away.

He bore the long minutes until the end of the session busying himself the best he could, then took off as soon as the hour struck.

–

By the time he reached home, the sun had already ascended. Night was slowly crawling up, the streetlights automatically activating to chase the darkness away. Hanzo was starving, having gone through the afternoon with nothing but a couple of supermarket sandwiches.  
Considering the time, the writer would not have much time to practice archery before it got completely dark. But he would grasp any minute of it; his stomach could wait a little longer.

Japanese Archery, or Kyūdō, was his only hobby beside writing. He had first learned it to satisfy his mother's desire, then it progressively grew onto him.  
The discipline of the body and mind required to maintain a perfect position, the stillness of the breath, heartbeat and thoughts in order to have perfect accuracy, the bow becoming close to an appendage more than a tool, and finally the release of the arrow, feeling it flee from his fingers and seeing it reappear stuck into the center of his target... 'Meditation in action' that Hanzo willingly indulged in, unlike Zenyatta's preachings.

Since the writer did not have the money to have a membership in a club, he would practice it on the rooftop of the residence every day. He was not certain his landlord would permit it if she ever found out, so he always made a point at sneaking up the fire escape.  
His target was a simple plank of wood found in the trash, on which he had painted circles. It was in a bad shape, moldy and covered with numerous dents from his daily practice, but it remained sturdy enough.

For ten minutes straight, Hanzo shot arrows after arrows, his mind clear and focused on the repeated motion. Like his target, the arrows were made from materials recovered on the streets. They were a poor comparison to the quality arrows he had once used and were certainly not worthy of Stormbow, but they did the work nevertheless.

Once it got too dark and cold to stay outside, he carefully packed his stuff and went back to his flat. Potato gratin leftovers, curtesy of Jack's bubbly assistant Lena, would be his dinner tonight.  
While Hanzo was not much of a gourmet, the perspective of a homemade dish preceded with a quick hot shower raised his spirit up.

–

Five days went by before Hanzo finally decided to use to the benzodiazepines.

He had hesitated during that time, the box of sleeping pills still tucked inside his bag. Having it in his apartment made him so uncomfortable, it was constantly on his mind. Ever since he disposed of the content of his medicine cabinet and moved out of the studio, he had not owned any medication.

Were his sleeping problems not becoming so crippling, he would not have asked for anything at all. In the span of the week, he had obtained less than a full night of sleep. The stress brought by the presence of the drugs had contributed to the frequency of his nightmares, which still made little to no sense whatsoever.

On Sunday evening, it was out of frustration and tiredness that the writer bluntly emptied his bag on the table.  
Picking the box among the formerly ordered clutter, he pondered on taking a pill right now. Though most of the week had been mentally exhausting and devoid of any writing, he still wanted to try and be creative tonight.

Hana's suggestion against writer's block popped up in his head and he wondered. Should he really give this foolish idea a try? Perhaps he should. He was still very skeptical about this 'remedy', but right now desperate enough to give it a try.

Comfortably installed with a mug of tea and instant noodles, he reluctantly started zapping through channels at random.  
Only a minute in and he was already getting sick of it. Was there no quality content these days? So far all he had encountered was either boring, uninspiring, or utterly obnoxious. After a third idiotic sitcom, he was this close to throw the remote into the screen.  
Maybe he should drop this stupid idea and go back at his staring contest with the blank document on his laptop screen.

Sounds of gunshot and neighing horses brought his attention back on the TV. Another cowboy flick was playing, lucky him.  
Something sparked his interest though; this western was far less modern than the one he woke up to the night before. Even more surprising, its protagonists were Asians and the movie had been obviously dubbed in English over the original dialog.  
Maybe it was one of these movies mixing westerns with the ronin genre, the samurais without masters.

It did not make up for the fact that it was still a cowboy flick, and that cowboys were tacky. So Hanzo promptly turned the TV off, did the dishes and solemnly swallowed a sleeping pill with the last drops of his tea.  
Although he had not expected Hana's idea to work from the start, he still felt the bitter taste of disappointment and a bit of dread for having wasted time doing something so pointless.

At least this frazzling day would end with a night of decent, if not good, sleep.


	4. Marigold Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins…  
> Alternate title : hot hot hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goooood, I honestly did not think so many people would like my lil' AU ;~;  
> Thank you, all of you, for the kudos and the comments. I wish I could put into words how much it means to me and how much you encourage me.
> 
> I sincerely hope y'all enjoy this new chapter and be excited, cause our favorite cowboy is just around the corner!
> 
> Here's the [art](http://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/158284132426/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video) I made for the chapter!

Hanzo knew he was dreaming. That floating sensation, as if his body had no weight whatsoever, the small vertigo caused by his confused inner ear… And the peaceful sky stretching indefinitely all around him.  
A strong, omnipresent wind was howling into his ears, messing his loose hair and wiping his clothes. Time to time, solitary clouds in all kinds of shape passed by as Hanzo soared through the blue infinity.

What took him aback the most, even more than the remarkable newness and peaceful atmosphere this dream offered, was just how aware he was, and how real everything felt.

Even in his worst nightmares, the kind that got him screaming himself awake, he had only reached a state of semi-consciousness.

Right now, he felt fully awake.  
A lucid dream… He never had one before, and it was disconcerting to experience it presently.  
Nevertheless, it did not make the dream any less pleasant, Hanzo progressing toward a state of serenity that only archery had managed to bring him before.

Unfortunately his confused serenity was cut short, as he noticed the incoming obstacle.  
A wall of golden sand had surged up before him, taking up the entire space and sharply contrasting with the blue sky. There was absolutely no way to stir away, and Hanzo was heading right toward it.

That was when Hanzo realized two things.  
Firstly, this was not a wall, but the ground.  
Secondly, he was not flying.  
He was actually falling.

Hanzo could not help it; he screamed all the way down, until he plummeted head first into a dune.

While the impact was not as violent or deadly as it should have been from free falling into dense sand, it sure knocked the wind out of his lungs.  
Face and limbs buried deep into hot sand, he remained completely still, body and mind numb from the shock. It was only when suffocation became a legitimate concern that he extricated himself from the dune, choking and spitting.  
At least a whole bucket of sand had got into his shirt, judging from the amount that poured down at his feet when he arduously stood up. Hanzo's skin, hair and clothes were caked with marigold grains, which lingered no matter how hard he tried to brush them off.

Once the writer was able to breathe without hacking his lungs out, he took a moment to look around. All he saw was the desert around him, spreading out of sight beneath the blue sky. The wind had shaped many dunes, bare or ornamented with very scarce vegetation. With the blazing sun, the horizon unsteadily undulated and blurred, making the desert seem infinite.

Where was he supposed to be even? Sahara perhaps? Was this even a real place?  
Hanzo had no idea why he would even dream of a desert; he had only been in one once and certainly never formulated the desire of ever returning there.

Despite his uncertainty and the lack of landmark, he started walking away from the body-shaped mark he left in the sand.  
He had absolutely no idea of where he should be heading to, but he certainly could not stay in one spot and wait.

–

Perhaps he should have done that, instead of going in one direction and hoping to encounter something at some point.

In a matter of minutes, Hanzo was burning up. The sun was unforgiving, hitting hard on his inky hair and setting his scalp on fire.  
For a dream, all of this was feeling way too real.

–

After approximately an hour, he was dangerously balancing between insolation and exertion.

His clothes were drenched with sweat, to the point the fabric uncomfortably kissed his skin.  
Hanzo was tempted to remove the sticky shirt and sweat pants, but exposing more skin under the merciless rays would not be the smartest move. The last thing he needed was an extended sunburn.

All he found on his way were tumbleweeds, cactus too prickly to consider approaching, and tiny creatures sneaking into the soil much too fast for him to get a proper look at.  
These instances were quite rare though, making most of the desert nothing but a sandy, barren, hellishly hot infinity.

–

Hanzo was this close to giving up and collapsing down the dune he was trying to cross, when he saw something stand out from the monochrome landscape.

A lonely figure was moving far ahead, flickering with the heatwaves rippling the horizon.  
Relief burst in Hanzo's chest, followed by crushing uncertainty.  
Was this a friend? A foe? A vaguely humanoid cactus that somehow could accomplish movement?

Hope and the possibility that he might have found salvation energized Hanzo, giving him the strength to scurry down the dune and head toward the blurry figure. It progressively got more and more precise as he got closer. More colorful too, Hanzo now able to rule the cactus out as they certainly did not come in red and brown.

The figure was actually a human being, gender yet undetermined, sitting on a chestnut horse. The red he noticed earlier was some sort of red cloth wrapped around the person's frame.

Against all principles of vigilance and precaution, Hanzo waved at the horseman, shouting at the top of his lungs. Whoever was brave or foolish enough to be out there, he hoped they had water.

“Over here!” He shouted, voice cracking from the sand parching his throat. Afraid the person was too far to hear his croaking, he tried to run furthermore.

He had to stop shortly after starting however, his body unable to bear more exercise. As he coughed out more particles and struggled to catch his breath, he kept his eyes fixed onto the horse and its rider.

They seemed to have heard his call or at least seen him, for they were galloping in his direction. As the distance between the two of them diminished, Hanzo perceived more details on the cavalier.  
They were a man judging from the built, and dressed like a cowboy. Tacky.  
But the thirsty writer dismissed that thought. For all he cared, the man could have been dressed like a clown and ridding a giant god-forsaken tarantula. He would not have given a single damn

After a few seconds and very much like that serenity he experienced at the beginning of his dream, Hanzo's relief started to falter and give room to concern.  
Should the cowboy not slow down by now? He was going toward him with a worrying speed, even though Hanzo was visibly not about to go anywhere, nor in immediate danger. Was he in some kind of hurry?

His eyes drifted on the horse; he had never been around them before, and the tall creature was most definitely capable of crushing his skull with its hooves if it ran over him.

The cavalier was getting closer and closer, still not slowing down. As for the writer's worry, it spiked up exponentially.  
The cowboy looked less and less like a good Samaritan coming to save the day, but more like a man on a mission.  
A hunter, or a killer.

Hanzo started backing away hesitantly, before he fully turned around and broke into a mad dash. Panic set his thoughts ablaze; how was he supposed to distance a horse in a desert when he was already on the edge of crumbling down?

He threw a quick look over his shoulder. The cowboy was definitely after him, eyes locked onto him. While stirring his horse to chase after his soon-to-be victim, he was reaching for something on his hip.  
The thought suddenly occurred to Hanzo; if the rider was in fact an actual cowboy, he potentially owned a gun.

Ignoring the pain firing through his legs and the stitches stabbing his sides, Hanzo forced his body to keep going. The sound of the horse's hooves hitting the sand as it galloped after him was tuned out by his hammering heart.  
There was no way he could lose his pursuer, but he was not going to sit down and wait for his demise.

Perhaps now would be a good time to start praying, but the writer could hardly summon a coherent thought with the panic shooting through his head.

Suddenly Hanzo's run was stopped, his legs abruptly swiped from underneath him. Had he somehow stumbled on an obstacle? There had been nothing on his path, only sand!  
Whatever it was, it earned him a second meeting with the ground and a mouthful of dust.

Almost immediately he tried getting back up on his feet, more than aware that he had no second to spare. But he quickly found out that his legs were immobilized. His eyes widened when he saw the cause.

There was a rope knotted around his ankles, and it led to the cowboy. The horse had slowed down, now marching toward the writer and slowly closing the distance between them.  
The cowboy had caught him using a lasso.  
Caught with a lasso. Like some kind of helpless calf.

Hanzo looked up at the rider, black spots appearing before his eyes as exhaustion brutally caught up with him. The unexpected dispense of stamina had not done his body any favors.  
He had the time to notice a strong face surrounded by a scruffy beard, and wild hair peeking from beneath his cowboy hat.  
Then black spots invaded his vision and he lost consciousness.


	5. Dead or preferably Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the cowman ~(ಥ⌣ಥ)~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (PHEW managed to upload this finally, sorry about the mess if the chapter showed up doubled or tripled!)
> 
> Again I want to thank everybody who dropped a kudo and commented ;~; I honestly did not think I'd get so many and I sincerely hope you will keep on enjoying!
> 
> Here's the [art](http://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/158524145041/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video) for this chapter~.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to [bagel-tots](http://bazel-tots.tumblr.com), who made this story happen with this wonderful [AU idea](http://bazel-tots.tumblr.com/post/152298761185/bazel-tots-so-i-have-an-outlandertime-travel) I drew inspiration from. Thank you so much, hope you will enjoy the cowman~.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not portray accents well in writing and trying to render McCree's is a tough challenge. So I apologize in advance if it does not seem quite right évè

A dull headache accompanied with swirling nausea slowly brought Hanzo out of his dizzy spell.  
While his brain progressively rebooted and his inner ear screamed at him that he was leaning horizontally, the writer found himself in a very awkward position.

He was uncomfortably leaning on his front over a saddle, upper part and lower part of his overheating body hanging down on the sides. He must have been in this position for quite some time, for his face felt sore and his brain pounded viciously along his heartbeat.

The horse beneath him was walking at a normal pace, but its shoulder blades rolled with its steps. It made the saddle and the writer lying over it swing along.  
Good thing Hanzo was not prone to seasickness, for this repetitive shift would have caused his stomach to go overboard.  
The stench emanating from the worn leather and the horse added to his discomfort… But not as much as his wrists being restrained by a thick rope.

Suddenly, a low, deep voice rich with a Southern accent poured into his ears.  
“Mornin'.”  
Hanzo immediately opened his eyes, ignoring the strengthening of his headache caused by the abrupt exposure to light.

Below his head was a boot supported by a muddy stirrup. A most ostentatious boot caked with sand, swaying at the rhythm of the clip-clop and ornamented with an actual spur. The metallic star was jangling along the rocking of the foot, and directly contributing to the writer's fierce migraine.  
The leg connected to that boot was strong, encased into jean trousers and… chaps?

As if the rope around his wrists was not enough, Hanzo was getting a very bad feeling about this entire thing.  
In order to see the rest of the voice's owner, he struggled to turn his head.

Hanzo saw some kind of red blanket, the tissue decorated at the worn rims with golden patterns. The clothe covered what resembled a chest armor of some kind, but Hanzo could not be certain from the small glimpse he saw.  
What he was very certain about was the presence of a holster with a gun sheathed inside. Despite the heat, the writer's stomach grew cold as if he had swallowed a bucket of ice.

Then a gloved hand invaded his line of sight, the fabric worn at the fingertips. Before Hanzo could recoil, it cupped his chin and helped him tilt his head.

The first word that came to Hanzo as he got a good look at the man's face was… Scruffy.  
The beard he had noticed before he started running for his life was messy and poorly trimmed, perhaps not at all. It hid the line of the man's jaw and gave him a rather unkempt look, to which the locks of hair pocking from beneath a Stetson, the tanned skin and the bushy eyebrows contributed.

Nonetheless, the cowboy had a strong, intimidating face. The brim of his hat casted a shadow over his eyes, but it did not make them any less intense. The hazel irises with a touch of copper reminded Hanzo of a wolf's.  
A predator's.

When their eyes met, the man tilted the brim of his hat up with his other hand. A prosthetic hand made of metal, Hanzo realized, that caught the sun despite the dirt coating it.

“Howdy?” The cowboy hummed, a foxy smirk stretching his chapped lips.

An undignified yelp escaped Hanzo's mouth in response, as he instinctively started thrashing.  
Bad idea, for his balance on the saddle was more precarious than he thought and his grip absolutely nonexistent.  
Without any means to hold himself back, he slid down the saddle head first. Thankfully his hands were bound in front of him, or else his face would have made acquaintance with the sand once more without any means to lessen the impact.

The rest of Hanzo's body fell off the saddle with the grace of a potato sack, while the cavalier stopped his steed.  
The moment the writer was back on the firm ground, he swiftly jumped to his feet, mind going miles an hour to figure a way out of his predicament.

Running away was out of the question, seeing how well it had worked out for Hanzo the first time. Should the cowboy have more lassos in his possession, he would not have much trouble catching him again.

The writer considered lashing out at his opponent and drag him down the horse, but he was certainly not in the shape to fight him off. His wrists were bound so tightly together that he could hardly move his hands, the fact he could still feel the tip of his fingers had to be a miracle of some kind. Although he could fight without using his hands after being taught so quite early in his life, he had no doubt he would not manage well right now.

Taking ahold of the gun was practically impossible, as the man had it secured into a holster beneath his long scarf. Hanzo might manage to get his hands on it at the very least, but that was it; if the cowboy actually expected him to go for it, there were no chances of a good outcome.

A sharp pull on his bonds snapped him out of his schemes and nearly made him lose his balance again.  
Much to Hanzo's dismay, the end of the rope tying his wrists together was attached to the horse's saddle. A surprisingly smart move coming from the Macaroni Western cowboy.

Forgetting all his previous plans, Hanzo immediately tried pulling on the links, hoping to break free. But his efforts neither altered the knot, nor made the horse budge. An annoyed shake of its mane was all he got for reaction, until the cowboy intervened for the sake of his nag.  
Without a warning, he violently tugged on the rope, making Hanzo fall to his knees with the whiplash.

“Are ya done?” The cowboy hummed patiently, giving the rope another tug purely gratuitous.  
Completely outraged, the writer clumsily got back on his feet. Of all dreams and nightmares he could have, why did it have to be some Wild West knockoff in which he was the punching bag of a dirty cow _man_?

“Whoever you are, release me this instant!” He roared, voice nearly breaking and dry throat throbbing. The heat was absolutely unbearable, hot sand clinging to his sweaty skin.

“M'name ya don't need to know. All ya need to know, tenderfoot, is that I'll bring ya to the judgement ya so rightly deserve.” The scruffy man exhorted. “Even if ya’d asked nicely, I can't exactly cut ya loose. After all, ya're wanted, an' I'll be damned if I ever let an opportunity to dispense justice walk off.”  
The writer had to take a moment in order to process half of what he managed to understand, mystified by the man's accent and his downright awful enunciation.

“Wanted? What are you talking about?” He finally hissed, keeping as much distance between the horse and him as the rope allowed.

The cowboy reached for his hip and Hanzo stopped breathing. Was that BAMF written on the belt buckle? What the hell did it even mean? And most importantly, was the man actually reaching for his gun and going to shoot him on the spot?  
There was absolutely nothing to hide behind, Hanzo was just a lone sitting duck waiting for a bullet to knock him down.  
Except there would be no getting back up after that.

Fortunately for him, the cowboy only withdrew a bended paper sheet from his pocket.  
Without wasting a second, he unfolded the paper by a shake and held it up for Hanzo to see.  
The writer's deep scowl gave way to surprise as he deciphered the poster.

'Wanted : Hanzo Shimada. Dead or preferably Alive.'

And right above that puzzling caption, a mugshot was staring back at him. His very own portrait, beardless, hair detached and several years younger.  
This drawing was more than familiar to him, never mind its depicting his own face; Genji was its author.  
He had made it back when he practiced realistic portraits, using his brother as a model in order to do a testament to Hanzo's “resting bitch face”.  
What was it doing here? Odd way to think of his brother in an already odd Western nightmare.

His brother's artwork being on this Wanted poster was astonishingly not the weirdest thing about it.  
If Hanzo had ever learned something from Westerns (or rather what he had been forced to endure), it was the basics of Wanted posters. They featured the criminal's name, description or last whereabouts and most importantly the charges against them with a reward usually written in bigger font than the rest of the text.

However the paper hanging before his nose had none of it; there were no price for his capture, and no indications whatsoever of the crimes he was accused of. Just his name and face.

“Wh-On what grounds am I wanted? There are neither charges on this paper, nor a forsaken price for my head!” He snarled, impatiently pulling back on the rope. The brown horse did not even react this time, merely flicking its ears.

“Uh… Would ya look at that. Strange.” The cowboy frowned at the poster, the realization on his face only enervating the already infuriated writer furthermore  
“How did you not notice in the first place? You apparently recognized my face from afar, you must have looked at it!  
\- Well, maybe I was too enraptured by yer pretty mug ta notice.” The bounty hunter retorted, a wolfish grin plastered on his face.

Hanzo's cheeks heated up to his own surprise; he thought he could not possibly get any warmer.  
Putting the reaction on the account of embarrassment, he tried to shake off the destabilizing compliment and go back on track. It was probably just a tactic to bewilder him, and it was almost working. Just a little.  
“Cease your… Whatever it is you are doing, and release me at once!”

The cowboy's grin did not falter.  
“Now now, ain't nothin' provin' that ya didn't do anythin' wrongful. Sure ya got good looks an' a pout that could kill, but ya're pricklier than a cactus. When I find someone here, 'specially mighty fishy greenhorns like ya, they're usually runnin' away from somethin'.”  
Hanzo failed to reply right away, his mouth opening and closing indignantly. He was so furious and distraught by the unbearable heat, his self-control was slipping through his fingers like water.  
“I-I have not done anything! There is nothing on that paper of yours, because I am innocent!” He rebutted, awkwardly twisting his bound hands. The rough fabric of the rope was starting to create a rash on his wrists.

“Maybe they forgot to print it?” The rider chuckled. For a man wearing a blanket over a shirt plus chest protection and chaps over pants, how was he not breaking a sweat? The hat did shield his head and whatever excuse of a brain residing inside, but the rest was just in the plain sun!  
“Forget to-this is most ridiculous! Will you finally untie me and let me leave? All I wish is to find a way out of this despicable place, away from you!”

It was the cowboy's turn not to retort straight away; he thoughtfully tipped his hat, his face stern yet his eyes betraying amusement.  
At this point, Hanzo wanted to tear his shirt off. The fabric drenched with sweat completely stuck to his back, making him feel close to utter meltdown. The only thing keeping him from doing so was not fear of sunburns this time, but the absolute dread of letting this savage see any bit of his body.

“… Well I guess I got no real grounds t'hold ya, so I could do that. Fair enough. But pardner…” The cowboy vaguely gestured at the desert around them. “Where exactly do ya plan on goin' from here?  
\- I'll- … I will…” Hanzo glanced around. In the heat of the argument, he had forgotten that he had been so far on foot, in the middle of nowhere with no directions whatsoever.

Since there was no panel or anything to remotely save face, he reluctantly looked back at the cowboy. “Do you happen to know your way around?” He asked, in a tone he hoped civilized enough.

“Sure do doll face, I know this place like the back of my hand!” The cowboy hummed nonchalantly while pretending to inspect his nails. He was clearly having a lot of fun with this.  
“… Would you kindly take me to the closest town or village then? I am, as you can clearly see, lost.” Hanzo continued, certain that spitting razor blades would feel less painful than trying to remain polite toward the infuriating cowboy.

There was a fleeting silence during which the cowboy took a cigar out, lit it with a zippo and took a long drag. His eyes never left the writer's.  
“Sure can an' will do.” He finally nodded, fumes gently flowing out of his mouth as he spoke. Hanzo had to resist the urge of wrinkling his nose at the smell. If nicotine was all it took to make his interlocutor be more of a savior, he would tolerate it any day.  
“Thank you in advance. May we leave now please? This heat is truly something.” He offered a weak smile, hoping to spur some infinitesimal piece of sympathy.

The cowboy blinked at him for a moment, then he gave Hanzo another nod and nudged his horse's side. The steed shook its mane in response, then moved into a slow strut.

Hanzo remained on the spot, frozen in a confused pause until the rope was strung up.. “… Could you untie me at first?” He asked once it started pulling at his hands, fearing to understand what was actually happening.  
“T'be honest, I don't trust ya 'nough for that. Once I know for sure ya're as innocent as ya say ya are, I'll cut ya loose.” The cowboy puffed flippantly.

“C-Can I at least sit with you?” The writer urged, having to move forward when the pulling of his bounds got uncomfortable.

His desperate request was met with a teasing wink and a nudge of the ridiculous hat in a meek salute. Despicable.  
“The closest place from 'ere would be Li'l Bones' Creek. Bit small for a town, but too big to be called village anymore. Hell there ain't no creek even, but it's in the name somehow… 'S about what, an hour or two away? Can't really say with our current speed, Sis an' I usually dash. So… Guess yer chicken legs are in for a good workout darlin'.”

It took Hanzo the little cold blood he had left not to spew a stream of insults and horrible death threats at the cavalier. He opted for muttering them to himself in Japanese, jaws clenched and teeth grinding.

This trip was going to be _painful_. Hell, it already was.

–

Unsurprisingly, it got downhill.

The hot sand was merciless under Hanzo's feet, the socks making a poor thermal shield. Had he been wearing shoes, he would probably have had more blisters than toes by now.

The sun remained merciless, its rays stabbing his scalp repeatedly like a heated knife. If it were not for the locks sticking to his sweaty face and neck, Hanzo would think his hair had caught on fire some time ago and stayed ablaze all the way.

He had managed to keep up with the horse at first. The enraging conversation with the cowboy had summoned enough rage to fuel his stamina, allowing him to march steadily and maintain a constant distance between the nag and him. Not too close for the sake of his nose, not too far for his wrists'.  
But that anger-induced strength faltered and the gap had significantly increased, the horse practically pulling him along now.

He should have had severe burns on his arms and wrists bleeding raw from the friction of rope by now. Perhaps he would have, if this had not all been a nightmare.

His vision had stopped being neat minutes ago, the horse and the cowboy a colorful patch of spots dancing before him. All the writer could hear was the monotone stumping of hooves into sand, and his own labored breathing. He could hardly summon the focus to follow along.

His legs had turned wobbly, the thighs and calves jerking out of exertion as they climbed or went down dunes.  
There was no way to tell how long he had been walking to this point, all he knew was that it would not be long before he surrendered.  
So many times had he been tempted to talk with the cowboy, maybe try to reiterate his request of a seat on the saddle, or even beg for water. But Hanzo's stubbornness made him hold his tongue. And even if he let survival take over pride, his mouth and throat were so parched he doubted anything audible would come out.

A dark veil fell before Hanzo's eyes. He was not sure whether or not his eyes were closed. Maybe his brain had cut off the optical feed just to save energy. Same thing for his audition; all he could hear was white noise.

He managed a couple more steps before his body abruptly collapsed. The hot sand welcomed his body like an old friend, Hanzo abandoning himself to it. The last thing his mind registered before it shut down was the soft thud of boots hitting the sand, vibrations caused by approaching footsteps and a blissfully cold hand brushing his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Macaroni Western is the synonym for Spaghetti Western in Japan.


	6. Block Buster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not a vaccine PSA I swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think every single chapter I'll add will always start by thanking you guys so much for all the kudos and the comments!  
> I'm so happy that you are sticking around in spite of the slow start, and hope ya'll looking forward to seeing what happens next!
> 
> Any woo, here's the [art](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/158862906591/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video) for this chapter~.

Hanzo blinked wearily at the familiar ceiling, groaning in discomfort and distress; he felt hot and dizzy, his sweaty limbs entangled into the oven-like blanket.  
A brassy cough shook him, making his head pound; his mouth was utterly dry and his throat nastily aching, as if he had swallowed broken glass.

He attempted to sit up in order to get some water and maybe a cold shower, only to fall back against the futon with a pained moan. His muscles were all aching, body too sore for him to move no matter how much he willed himself out of bed.

The writer felt so bad off, he actually checked his skin for sand. While this seemed like an absolutely silly idea, these combined ailments made him feel like what he had gone through in his dream actually occurred for real.  
However he found nothing but sweat.  
The absence of dust brought confirmation; it was silly indeed, he was just sick as a dog.

It had been quite some time since he last got this ill. He blamed the transports for that rather than the cold weather; being surrounded by people with close proximity made him highly susceptible to catching their germs and viruses. In Japan, people had the decency to wear masks in order to avoid spreading their sickness.

When Hanzo did fall ill, he would still go to the city nonetheless, with of course a disposable mask over his mouth. But what he had right now was vicious, definitely aiming to keep him in bed. And it was winning.  
It was so pernicious, it had probably influenced his dream.

His phone was propped onto a small bedside table right next to the futon. Reaching out for it took the writer a couple failed tries, until he finally managed to get his hand on the device.  
Although Hanzo was technically working at home, he still had to call his bosses in case of sickness. At this time of the morning however, there was just about one person he could reach without falling onto a voicemail.

With a bit of apprehension, he selected the number in his contact list and waited for an answer. It was not long before the phone was picked up:  
“Overwatch Editions secretary, this is Lena Oxton. How can I help you?”  
Lena's voice was always so peppy and energized, no matter what time of the time it was. And to think she never drank anything but plain water and tea.

“Lena, it's Hanzo Shimada…” Hanzo rasped, his voice throaty and at least three octaves lower than usual. Talking made the itch far worse, but he would attend to it later with a hot drink.  
“Oh Hanzo! How are you? I heard you came by yesterday, you could have come by to say hi!”  
There was no resentment in her tone, but the writer still felt the familiar pressure of guilt clutching his heart in response.  
“I apologize, I should have come to you. I did not want to disturb-” He started, but Lena cut short to it. She had dealt with him enough to be familiar with his pattern; he would fail to do or attend something, be sorry about it and rapidly spiral down into self-deprecation if unstopped.

“It's fine love, it's fine! Did you enjoy the gratin?  
\- Yes, it was very good.” Delicious even; he had not left a single crumble. “Thank you again... But that is not the reason I am calling. Lena I-  
\- Are you going to come by my office today? There is nothing forbidding you from doing that, you know? And the guys and I, we've got a few extra leftovers for you if you'd like!  
\- That is very kind, but I am actually not going to make it. I-  
\- Got stuck in traffic? I know, I checked for perturbations on your usual itinerary, the service is being delayed due to technical issue. But it should be fixed very soo-  
\- Lena, I am actually still at home.” Hanzo interrupted. As heart-warming as she was, the Englishwoman was making him feel dizzier. While he held her in high esteem for her efficiency and quickness, she tended to get tedious.

“I woke up minutes ago feeling quite ill, and I am afraid I cannot come over in that state. Would you please notify the Reyes-Morrisons, or whichever one you see first?  
\- Sure thing love! Hold on a sec…” There were a few crackles on the phone, Lena probably prompting hers between her cheek and shoulder. “Oh Hanzo? I've actually got Jack with me if you want to have a chat. He has just arrived. Think you are up to tell him? I can always transfer the message if you're too bad off-  
\- Thank you Lena, I will tell him myself.” Hanzo replied without thinking. He had not meant to be rude, but he honestly could use a couple seconds of silence right now. He probably should have just cut short to this conversation sooner and catch up with her another day.

“Passing you through!” The woman hummed. There was a short silence, then Jack's voice greeted him.  
“Hello Hanzo, Lena just told me you were ill. Are you holding up?” The concern in the man's voice prevented Hanzo from giving a sarcastic reply.  
“I might have contracted the flu... If you require me to come over today, I can still try-  
\- Nonsense! For once that you remained at home instead of dragging yourself all the way here, I sure as hell am not going to make you move.” The editor cut, careful not to raise his voice too loud for the sake of the sick writer.  
“Stay put and calmly recover. I will inform Gabe-uhm Gabriel, that you are on a sick leave. Would you like me to call Ana and send her to your flat?  
\- Ah… Yes please, that would be very nice. I am afraid my throat will bleed if I speak more.” The writer replied, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

If that aura Gabriel referred to as Jack's 'Golden Boy-ness' could somehow emanate light, Hanzo's phone would be radiating with it.

There was a short interruption, Jack talking to someone else in the background.  
“Ah, I should warn you that miss Oxton will come by to your place this afternoon. She mentioned having a few 'delicacies' to help you recover.”  
The writer had to sniffle to keep from straight up groaning out of agony.

–

To his relief, Ana agreed to make a home visit. A trip to her office would have been absolutely excruciating in his current state, no matter if he had taken public transports or a taxi that he definitely could not afford.  
Just going out of bed to open the door for her and let her in the flat left Hanzo feeling woozy.

He nodded off as Ana did her evaluation; the doctor had a gentle touch that was quite telling of her experience, and she only got intrusive when necessary.  
In fact, he could have fallen asleep if a small beeping sound had not brought him back.  
“Well Hanzo, I am afraid you have a good case of influenza.” Ana smiled sympathetically as she removed the thermometer from his ear. “Were you vaccinated this year?”  
The writer simply shook his head.

There had been a campaign of flu shots at the editing house a month ago, the cost of the vaccine charged by their health insurance. He had wanted to attend and missed the timeframe, depression kicking hard and confining him in bed for several days.  
Calling or texting anyone to let them know had been simply impossible at the time.

Much to his relief, Ana did not insist. “All I can suggest is that you have some aspirin, plus antibiotic in case you develop bronchitis. If you do not own either, I can ask Fareeha to drop your prescription off.  
\- Tell her to give them to Lena Oxton, she's coming by this afternoon. And also that I'll visit the pharmacy as soon as I can to pay for the medicine…” Hanzo muttered, his voice hardly lighter than earlier. A cup of honeyed tea had partially soothed his throat, but not done much for his vocal cords.  
“Don't bother, I will do that for you. But it will go on your tab. In the meantime, you just rest and drink plenty. You should be good in about a week.” The doctor smiled, already sending her daughter a message to let her know.

“Dr. Amari, before you go… I have a question regarding the sleeping pills.” Hanzo coughed out while Ana gathered her equipment. “Do the… Can the drugs disrupt dreams?”  
He had hesitated asking all throughout the consultation and now regretted doing so; it sounded just as stupid as it did in his head.  
The doctor did not seem to share his opinion, as she thoughtfully put her equipment away and closed her bag. “Mmh… They can cause bad dreams to become more frequent, but they cannot influence them. Why, did the first take cause you nightmares or night terrors?”

Could being dragged through a torrid desert by a frustrating cowboy individual be considered a nightmare? It sure had been hellish enough... But certainly not as traumatic as the recalls he usually had, where he relived the few bribes he could remember from the accident.

“No. Nothing of that sort.... I actually slept for a long time compared to my previous nights.  
\- Well, dreams are not an exact science. I can only speculate on this matter, but this could simply be a reaction of your brain to being sleep-deprived for so long and finally getting a good rest.” Ana offered, aware that the hypothesis was hardly a satisfying answer.  
“If your dreams do get worse, we can always try a different medication. Otherwise, interpreting them is entirely out of my competences. If that is what you seek, you might want to consult Zenyatta on this matter.”

That actually gave Hanzo one more reason not to approach the monk. He already refused to be psychoanalyzed, having his dreams dissected was out of the question.  
His mind was already made on the matter, no need to give it more thought.  
Noticing he had gone quiet for longer than he thought, the writer immediately nodded. “I will think on it. Thank you very much doctor.” He lied, faking a weak smile.

Once he was alone again, Hanzo had absolutely no idea what to do. He was too ill to anything physical and the weather outside was too cold, so practicing archery was absolutely out of the question. Yet he was not tired enough to sleep; notwithstanding the weird dream, the benzos had helped against his mental exhaustion.  
He could try working on this month's poem, but he was supposed to be on a sick leave till he recovered. Working at home did not mean he should forgo the purpose of sick leaves.

He grabbed his laptop, setting it on his futon and sat up against his pillow.  
First he checked a News website to catch up with the world, but rapidly stopped as there were nothing but negative or straightforwardly depressive news. Then he tried watching videos, but that bore him rapidly to the point he just shut his browser.

Perhaps he should try writing?  
Upon opening the blank document, he pondered. What in the world was he going to write about? He was struggling to think of a single idea at his best, doing it with the flu seemed highly counter-productive.  
Hana's suggestion came back to his mind and he wanted to curse her name; her stupid advice and these idiotic western flicks had intentionally messed with his brain.

Yet, in spite of the frustration and displeasure his dream had caused, it had not yet faded from his mind. As a matter of fact, he vividly remembered every detail and every single word he had exchanged with the scruffy cowboy.

Before he was even aware of what he was doing, his fingers started typing on their own.

“I, Shimada Hanzo, swear that I am not afflicted with dementia as I am writing this. At least not yet, or not that I am aware of.  
I do have a fever, thus the lucid dream I am about to write about could be its ephemeral side-effect that will eventually vanish to the confines of my memory.  
But this anomaly, this dream that has plagued a night of deep sleep like a drop of vinegar in a refined wine, must be documented. Especially because a certain, rabid colleague of mine will have my head if I do not follow their suggestion.  
Here is how this dream started:  
I was soaring through a great, spotless blue sky. My soul was draped in perfect serenity, which was a most wonderful feeling. I had not felt such peace in years... Until it was torn away by the realization that I was, in fact, not flying but falling to my potential death. The earth came toward me, standing in my way like a great barrier-”

–

When Hanzo finally finished writing down the recital of his dream, from the fall to his passing out from insolation, it was past-noon. He had only taken a couple breaks to use the bathroom and make a kettle of tea, which he had entirely consummated while writing.

Having typed so much after such a long time suffering the unfailing writer's syndrome left him breathless. The word count at the bottom of the document amounted to three thousand words. Three thousand! How could one dream get him so inspired that he wrote twenty times his weekly quota in just a few hours?  
Of course he was merely depicting an event that had occurred to him, but managing to put it on paper in faithful details did take more than a small effort.

He had saved the document on his desktop when the interphone buzzed loudly.  
Moving to answer the call reminded him painfully that he was still sick, as the fever and muscle pain struck back with a vengeance. It made him feel like an old man, and that was a simply despicable feeling.  
“Hello?” He rasped into the intercom.  
The jovial voice that answered back made him jerk back from the apparatus. “Cheers love, the cavalry's here!”  
Lena. He had completely forgotten she was coming over.

He quickly let her inside the building and adjusted the scarf around his neck to cover his mouth. The least he could do was avoiding to transmit his virus to the woman; that would be a terrible way of thanking her for visiting.

By the time he came back to open the door, Lena was already knocking on the other side.  
“Hello!” She waved at his face. It was impressive she could accomplish the gesture with the massive paper bag she was holding against her chest.  
“I've got some goodies for you!” She crooned while rubbing her soles against the worn-out doormat. She then promptly entered and carefully rested the impressive bag in his chair, before going back in the door entrance as quickly as possible.  
Hanzo would normally snap at anyone who did not remove their shoes before entering, whether they scrubbed the doormat ten times or more. But he was too sick to spit in the face of goodness incarnated.

“There are leftovers of my hachis parmentier, Gabriel's pumpkin pie plus a thermos of Jack's butternut soup, Winston's banana fritters, Hana's famous Bulgogi and a couple fresh fruits I picked up from the market on the way here. Oh and I also got a bag from Fareeha for you, it's in there with the goods.”

Hanzo was nothing short of speechless, overwhelmed by all this kindness. Never mind the shoes, the quirkiness and the constant headache-inducing chatter; Lena was an angel.  
“… I cannot thank you and the others enough.” He muttered emotionally, voice nearly cracking. It was hard to maintain a stoic face when facing one of his most devoted friends.  
Good thing he had half of his face shielded with blue fabric.

“You could, if you manage to attend the New Year's Eve party.” Lena's grin devolved into a softer smile. “That would be really nice to have you around outside of work-related stuff. We all miss you.”  
Again the writer was disarmed; she was right, he had rarely attended any social event since the beginning of his brother's coma. They made him uncomfortable and unwanted, the writer having lost the basis of human interactions. And yet his colleagues, his friends, were always prompt to give him space, let him leave earlier and then invite him again.

“Lena…” He swallowed, throat suddenly drier than it had been in the desert. “I cannot promise you and the team that I will come, but I will do my best to make it happen.”  
He felt guilty as the half-assed answer actually pleased her.  
“Noted! Really Hanzo, it'd be great!” She winked, before checking her watch. “Whoopsie, I'm running late! Take care love, see you!”

“See you…” He half-chuckled, half-coughed as she dashed away waving.

He immediately stored the food into his small fridge, carefully evaluating when each dish should be eaten. It would be a shame to let any of this homemade cooking get spoiled.  
The 'couple fresh fruits' actually consisted in bags bursting with clementines, apples and bananas. Hanzo really hoped they had not cost Lena too much; he could not simply accept this abundance of generosity and give nothing back in return.

Making it to the party would be his due to her and the Overwatch Editions crew, along with a homemade dish. He used to make Osechi-Ryori for New Year's Eve, but some of the necessary ingredients were costly...  
He took note of it on the calendar by the fridge; it could wait till the middle of December, no use worrying about it now.

–

It did not take long before Hanzo considered calling it a night. He had spent the rest of the afternoon in bed trying to read and often nodding off, awaken when the book he was holding tilted against his chin or straight up fell on his nose.

Having to rest because of illness felt highly unusual to him, and frankly boring.  
Back in his prime, even when he had been this sick, the writer had never bothered resting. His editors had often scolded him about it, especially when he did not bother disclosing the state of his health.  
All to no avail; as long as he could keep producing books and remain on top of his game, to hell with petty things. His brother and him had struggled enough, they had acquired a comfortable level of life with their own hands and he had strived to maintain it.

With Genji's health now at stake, the pressure on Hanzo was a horse of an entirely different color. It seemed all the more logical to neglect his own well-being over saving anything he could for the bills and hope to get better through the sheer power of stubbornness.

Sadly in this instance, he was forced to be reasonable; being this sick now only served to furthermore main his damaged creativity. Not to mention one could actually die from the flu.  
He had to get better as soon as possible, so he could focus his efforts back on trying to write. Describing the dream had been a good exercise, which had eroded the block.  
At least he hoped so.

For dinner, he warmed up a bit of soup and a slice of the pumpkin pie. As strange as he found its concept, he had to admit that Gabriel's recipe was quite good. He also took a couple clementines, and a hot tea to sip throughout dinner and swallow the pills with.

There was a chance he would have managed to sleep without the medication tonight, but he preferred not to take the risk. Fever surely would come to disrupt his sleep with heat waves and cold spells, and years of nightmares would definitely not vanish after one good night.  
One could never be too careful.

It was wrapped tightly in his blanket plus a duvet and shivering despite the extra layer that the writer fell asleep, praying for a prompt recovery.

–

“I am flesh an' I am bone. Rise up, tin' ting, like glitter'n gold. I've got fire in ma soul. Rise up, tin' ting, like glitter…”  
The slow, patterned rocking along with the low voice humming near his ear progressively woke Hanzo. The insufferable heat was back, but the blistering sun was obscured. A heavy scent filled his nostrils, spicy mixture of old tobacco, horse and manly musk.

“Do ya walk in the valley of kings? Do ya walk in the shadow of men who sold their lives to a dream? Do ya ponder the manner of things, in the dark...”  
That voice was familiar, its Southern drawl and timber stirring a small shiver within Hanzo's spine.

His lids were as heavy as lead, yet he apprehensively forced them open.  
All he saw was red fabric all around his face, the mesh too tight to see through.  
It took him a few solid seconds to deduce his current situation; he was sitting on the horse he had been lying against the night before, his back against the same cowboy that had been chasing him previously, and the man's red blanket was now covering his head.

What was he doing back here, in this individual's hands?

He must have swayed on the side of the saddle, for the cavalier stopped singing and cupped his arm to catch him. “Careful there Sleepin' beauty. Ya don't need more bad falls after today's.”  
Hanzo grunted something completely unintelligible in response, that went along the lines of 'you again' and 'what happened'. Despite the lack of articulation, the cowboy seemed to understand.  
“Ya had a mean sunstroke, stayed K.O for a little time too. Didn't think ya'd be this bad off under the sun.”

'People usually are when they are being cooked inside out in the middle of nowhere, with an insufferable cowman exhorting them.' Hanzo retorted, half of the sentence mumbled as he lacked the energy to enunciate. That, and the rocking caused by the horse's calm walking was somewhat soothing. Just like Ana's gentleness, it caused the writer to nod off.

“Usually the perps I chase stand the sun all the way to town. Ya're not a very tough fellah.” The cowboy muttered back. “Anyway, shouldn't take too long before we reach our goal now. We hurried a bit while ya were out, but had to cut back on the speed. Sis drags from the left, gotta change her shoe.” He leaned forward and patted the horse's neck. His chest briefly pressed against Hanzo's back, making the writer tense at the proximity. “So that gives ya like, twenty more minutes to rest yer eyes. Don't ya worry 'bout fallin', I'll keep ya steady.”

The writer just huffed in response, awareness slipping away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our dear cowman will be 100% back in next chapter! :D  
> By the way don't hesitate letting me know if you see typos and such. I insist because although I do double-check my chapters at least twice, I do miss things.
> 
> For those who are wondering, the song is Barns Courtney's "Glitter And Gold".  
> This is not going to be a song fic, I just wanted McCree to sing something and I happened to discover that song while writing the previous chapter. Found it to be quite the mood setter.


	7. Little Bones' Creek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quand on arrive en ville~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a billion thanks for everybody who has left a kudo and commented! I hope ya'll keep enjoying this journey <3
> 
> Here's the [art](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/159138714811/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video) for this chapter~.

Hanzo drifted back and forth between his room and the dream, the red fabric covering his face and the blank ceiling looming over him, the coolness of the cowboy's prosthetic arm around his chest and the cozy blanket surrounding his frame like a cocoon.

Never did the cowboy's chanting stop, although it sometimes broke into some rambling about snakes or scorpions. The constant noise followed the writer throughout the nauseating transitions, accompanying him like some sort of prayer.

At some point, Hanzo was certain he had slipped into a completely dreamless, dark bliss. But a gentle shake eventually pulled him out of the trance-like daze. 

“Hey. Rise an' shine tenderfoot.”  
There was no doubt that he was back with the cowboy.  
“What?” He croaked, straightening and trying to pull the red cape off his face. Having forgotten about his hands being tied, the writer fumbled about until he managed to free himself from the tenacious cloth.  
As soon as his eyes accommodated to the sudden light, Little Bones' Creek was revealed to him. 

The town looked exactly like the depiction Hanzo had of Western towns back in the Wild West era; one long main street that went straight in the middle, with a few establishments and houses with repetitive designs bordering it. No pavement whatsoever, only dirt, rocks and mud.  
The landscape around town was remarkably flat compared to the dunes of the desert, with the exception of a rocky formation starting on the other end of the main street. It looked like a canyon, but Hanzo could not be certain without getting a lot closer.

For something his own mind had conjured, it was somewhat accurate and detailed; being not that versed on that time period, the writer was almost impressed.  
What he could not figure out was why this town had the word 'creek' in it (there was none to be seen), who the 'Bones' were (should it be a family name and not the actual bones), and whether 'little' applied to them or the creek (could be why he did not see one anywhere).  
He should not linger on such meaningless details, but the odd name just mystified him. Perhaps his sickness had something to do with it

“We've reached town.” The cowboy groaned, stretching his arms above their heads.  
He did wear some kind of body armor beneath the red cape, over a plaid shirt. A holster held a gun with a spur fixed on the grip frame, the leather band fastened around the man's hips along with a flashy belt. The letters B-A-M-F decorated the stupidly large buckle.  
The cowboy's entire gear screamed tacky, and dirty for it was all covered in dust.

It made the writer realize that he was just as filthy. With the sheer amount of times he had bitten the dust and the horrendous walk through the desert, his skin was almost the same color as its sand and his usually impeccable locks were beginning to form dreadlocks.

'Please let there be water and bathtubs in this place.' Hanzo thought, revolted by his own deplorable state. Not that he was obsessed with cleanliness; he just highly dignified personal hygiene.  
He must have voiced the thought out loud, for the cowboy behind him let out a booming laughter.  
“O' course they got bathtubs, what d'ya think? We ain't stopping for a bath though, I'm jus' gonna drop ya in the local Sheriff's Office an' that'll be it.”

The fact he was apparently a wanted man in this obscure scenario hit Hanzo right back in the face.  
“Please, I assure you I have not done anything to be wanted for.” He told the cavalier, hoping that the minimal time they shared so far would make a difference from the moment he had been captured.

“Then how come yer face is on these posters?” He showed Hanzo a panel near the entrance; it did have his face plastered over other posters, with just as little information as the one previously shown.  
“I have no idea-this is my dream, why do I even put myself through this nonsense?” He snapped, still impacted by the heat. While the temperature was not awfully high like it had been in the desert, the dry and hot weather still grated on the writer's nerves.

There was a weird silence during which Hanzo hesitated looking at the cavalier. Maybe he was not supposed to mention this being a dream. Maybe things would stop now that he had shattered the illusion.  
But when he did look back, he found the cowboy simply staring back at him. His weirded-out expression suggested he thought Hanzo had gone mad. Then he coolly shrugged, putting an end to the awkward silence:  
“Tell ya what, we can make a stop at the Inn. I ain't in a rush, ya could use a breather an' Sis needs her shoes fixed. So we might as well have a li'l break before I drop ya off.” He tilted his hat down and draped the red blanket back over his shoulders.

“… Thank you.” Hanzo muttered, with both bad grace and actual gratitude.

–

Their passage through town went far from unnoticed; the locals looked up from whatever they were doing to stare, some even freezing entirely as they saw the cowboy and his prisoner. They maybe had recognized Hanzo from the posters, and he really hoped none would take justice in their own hands.

The cavalier was hardly bothered by the attention they were getting. He even tipped his hat to the ladies they met. Hanzo innerly scoffed each time he did; the gesture in itself was quite polite, but the flustered gasping and chortling aggravated him. Was the 'charming scruffy ruffian' the aesthetic ideals of the time?

They first stopped at the blacksmith's, the cowboy leaving 'Sis' in the care of a farrier. Hanzo struggled to step down from the saddle, his restricted wrists constraining and his legs cramping up at the slightest move.  
Walking to the Inn was about just as worse, the writer trudging along before the cowboy. At least the man had the decency not to shove him around or pest at his slowness, only resting a hand over his shoulder to direct him.

Upon their arrival into the establishment, the owner gave them the big eyes too. It got the writer to wonder if these imaginary people had ever seen an Asian before, or if it was the cowboy that was too much for them to handle. It could always be a reflection of his own bewilderment facing such tackiness for all he knew.

While the hotel was mostly vacant, the cowboy booked a room for two. “Separate beds of course. With a bathtub and plenty hot water too, that'd be mighty good of ya ma'am.” He snickered, throwing a side glance at Hanzo.  
The writer royally ignored him, although gratitude flared in his chest. Even climbing up the stairs to reach the upper floor did nothing to weaken the feeling.

The small room was almost completely bare, a bouquet of dry flowers on a stool being the only decorative element. There was just enough space to move around the two beds, and a door leading to a bathroom.

The 'bathtub' was brought minutes later by the owner. It looked like an ofuro built by Grade schoolers, but the two barrels filled with hot water provided with it made up for the poor sight.  
“Could you untie me? You have a gun, I am unarmed, and I am not planning to escape.” Hanzo snapped, while the cowboy shook his cape out by the window.

The cowboy took his time to finish dusting off the red cloth before meeting Hanzo's stare. “Reckon I don't have a problem with that... But ya gotta drop yer clothes outside of the bathroom then. That's the deal if ya wanna bathe.  
\- … What?  
\- Are yer ears filled with sand too? I said drop yer clothes-  
\- I have heard you! Why on earth would I leave my clothes out?” Hanzo cut, his patience running low rapidly with the urgency of being clean once again.

“So I'm sure ya won't climb out the bathroom window.” The cowboy replied, as if it were an obvious reason. “Now, ya don't seem like the type who' d run around butt-naked to me… Unless I'm wrong an' that's a thing o' yers.”  
The writer's smoldering stare was quick to refute the cowboy's last sentence.  
“Anyway, it's yer clothes out of the bathroom, or me keepin' an eye on ya the whole time.” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows as he undid the rope.

Hanzo felt his breathing falter, a cough ripping his already sore throat.  
If he had been more of public bathing adept back in Japan, he would have shown this cowman that he was not afraid of exposure and got the pleasure of catching him in his bluff.  
However he had only gone to the best sentō Hanamura could offer one time, realized he highly disliked the exposure and favored a private bath.  
Even if he happened to be in a dream with a man he had created by happenstance, he would not accept to be naked in his company.

“I'll leave the clothes out, thank you for your… Thoughtfulness.” Hanzo slowly replied, ears burning with embarrassment and disgust. While the cowboy guffawed, he hastily retreated to the bathroom and shut the door.  
The cowboy was actually being over-vigilant; the only window in the bathroom had stylish bars, and it was too small for a man of his built to go through. But Hanzo was too tired and dying to wash for another argument.

Stripping took him no time, his nightwear consisting in shirt, sweatpants, boxer and socks. The latest were in a pitiful state, the tissue having suffered more than he did.  
Putting the bundle of dusty clothes outside the room was quickly done too. All the cowboy got of his naked prisoner was a tattooed arm shoving the dirty pile out on the floorboard, before the door was hastily slammed shut.

The writer remained alert at first, holding still as he expected the fool on the other side to come and force his way through nonetheless. He had no idea what kind of man he was dealing with, and the door had no lock to keep him safe.  
Approaching footsteps made him slowly reach for the doorknob, ready to block it should the cowboy try to open.  
But all he heard was a swish, then the footsteps went away, accompanied with the jingling of spurs.  
When he heard the creaking of a chair, Hanzo finally relaxed and moved to the bath. Finally some peace and quiet away from his persecutor!

Before stepping into the tub, the writer had to get rid of all the sand. He shook his hair and rinsed them thoroughly with a few cups of water, then he used one of the supplied towels to scrub his body. There was only so much he could do with a limited amount of water and no soap or shampoo, but the fabric of the towel was abrading enough to remove the dust.  
When he was certain that not a single grain remained, Hanzo filled the bathtub and slowly sat in the hot water.

Once again he was caught off guard by how real this dream felt, but he was certainly not complaining. After everything he had been through, the hot water was simply _divine_. If it were not for the cowboy looming outside, he would have shamelessly groaned in pleasure.

Feeling much better, he started to think about this odd dream.  
Did this pure nonsense come up at the top of his head, or did it withhold a deep meaning he failed to see yet?  
Hanzo hardly believed in dream interpretation, but the sheer queerness of this one was unprecedented. Not to mention its carrying on from one night to the other; dreams could not do that… Could they?

After his conversation with Ana, he strongly hesitated putting the blame on the benzodiazepines. And he could not believe that accidentally seeing a few seconds of Western movies on TV could have influenced him this badly.  
It could be due to the illness, since it had started on the same night that the fever manifested. But the awareness he had possessed most of the time disqualified it as a fever dream.

Surely he was putting way too much thinking into this… But it was such a strong change in the blackness of his everyday life! He could not simply assimilate it without trying to understand its origin.

A sudden knock against the door made his train of thoughts derail.  
“Hey, done meltin' in here? I wouldn't mind cleanin' my bones too.” The cowboy spoke through the wood. “Unless there's enough room in there for the two of us in that bathtub.  
\- I will be going out shortly, no need for you to come in.” Hanzo grumbled, dread filling his guts at the idea of sharing a bath with the scruffy man. He practically shot out of the water, the warmth having thankfully soothed his aching muscles.

When the writer was dry, a towel covering his body from the waist down, the cowboy slightly opened the door and pushed the clothes back in the room. Much to Hanzo's surprise, they appeared to be less sandy than before. Had the bounty hunter actually taken the time to dust the clothes off? That was fairly considerate of him.

His appreciation for the gesture did falter when he realized that the man had most likely touched his underwear.

“I give ya thirty seconds to dress up. When time's up, I'll barge in to tie ya up, ready or not.”  
The writer executed himself within less, opening the door and presenting the cowboy his arms.  
“Why, mighty kind of ya to be so obedient.” He snickered while winding the rope around his wrists. “Nice ink ya got there by the way. I've seen lotsa stuff an' let me tell ya, from the good glimpse I got, yers is gorgeous.” He added in a more serious tone, gazing at Hanzo's arm with admiration.

“… Thank you.” Hanzo mumbled, crossing eyes with the cowboy. The hazel ones stared back without faltering, until the cowboy moved toward the bathroom.  
“Now, don't ya go an' try somethin' fishy pardner. I locked the chamber door an' if there's one thing I don't take off when I bathe, t'is Peacekeeper.” He patted the gun in the holster.  
Then without further threat, he closed the door behind him.

As soon as he was alone, Hanzo tried to find a way out of this mess.

The rope was connected to one of the supporting beams making the corners of the room. It gave him a bit of leverage to walk around the closest of the two beds, but not enough to reach the window or the locked door. He tried dislodging the wooden pillar, but he might as well have tried to lift the entire Inn. It would never budge.  
Rather than ruining his wrists in vain, he studied the complicated knot the cowboy made. It was an intriguing, pure mess that put sailors knots to shame and could not possibly be undone without the use of both hands and reasonable freedom of movement.  
That, and the rope was too thick to gnaw through. Maybe he would have tempted his luck by rubbing it against the edge of the beam, however there was no way he would prevail over its sturdiness before the cowboy finished his bath.

–

By the time the bounty hunter finally stepped out refreshed, dressed and hatless, Hanzo had resorted to lying on the bed, his hair spread out on the sheet to let the locks properly dry.

“Ya know darlin', if this can be a bit o' consolation, it pains me to put such a looker in jail.” The cowboy hummed. With the Stetson off his head, Hanzo had a much clearer sight of the man's rugged, sun-kissed face.  
His ears burned again and he had to look away before he made a fool of himself.

“Your flattery is about as consoling as a pile of destroyed piñata. Surely it will be a reassuring thought on my mind when I will suffer the sentence for crimes, which neither of us know about.  
\- Be as cocky as ya like, I'm just doin' my job.” The cowboy shrugged, shoving his hat over his wild hair.  
Without removing his boots, he dropped himself on the other bed and pulled a cigar from beneath the red scarf.

“I would appreciate if you refrained from smoking, or at least by the opened window. This may be a dream, it does not mean I can't have a word in.” The writer frowned as the cowboy lit it. While he used to smoke and wished he did time to time, it did not make him appreciate its smell. And cigar smoke was something he found absolutely repelling.

The cowboy looked at Hanzo like he had grown a second head. But the writer glossed over his stupefaction.

“Also, how can you stand wearing this blanket over your gear and clothes? It was ungodly hot in the desert, and this place is hardly an improvement in terms of weather.  
\- First of, darlin', this ain't a blanket. It's a _sarape_. And it does a fine job protectin' one 'gainst sunrays, harsh winds an' cold temperatures. Secondly, ya think the desert is hot? I was born an' raised in that heat.”

He took a single puff from the cigar, before he moved to the window and exhaled outside. “The weather in this town feels lukewarm t'me. Dunno where ya come from, but my bet's on a city somewhere in the north. Would explain much how come ya're such a lightweight.”

Hanzo scoffed, but he did not throw a rebuttal at the cowboy. After the man's small gestures, the last thing he wanted was to start an argument... But it was surprisingly tempting to cross the ridiculous cowman.  
“How is this going to go? You will simply drop me off, collect the price over my head and abandon me to an undeserved fate?”  
The cowboy nodded, moving the chair near the window so he could smoke more comfortably.

“Even though the lack of price on the poster is perhaps not a mistake and just an indication that nothing is to be gained over my capture?”  
Another nod, just as firm as the previous.

“Has someone ever told you how much of a headstrong and thick fool you can be?”  
A wolfish smirk stretched the cowboy's lips this time.  
“There ain't a day that goes by without someone tellin' me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I wanted to draw Hanzo in that bath for the illustration of that chapter… :)


	8. Karma strikes back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... with a vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ***WARNING* : thoughts on suicide and death + racist slur** (which I will not add in the tag because it's only in this chapter… If it happens again later, I will add it though)
> 
> Again you guys, thank you for the kudos! I still can't believe so many people enjoy my silly story ;w;
> 
> Here's the [art](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/159387795291/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video)  
> for this chapter!  
> Enjoy~!

They spent a couple hours in the hotel room, the cowboy smoking by the opened window and Hanzo lying on the bed, haunted by the restless thoughts swirling in his brain.

Neither of them had attempted to start a new conversation after their previous one stalled, which bothered the writer deeply.  
While talking with the stubborn fool annoyed him to no end, it had distracted him from his impending fate. In the heavy silence, there was nothing to divert him from the inner panic slowly gaining on his mind.

Would the writer get a fair trial with a chance to expose this ridiculous sham? Or would he be judged guilty without any means of defense? Was he overthinking the depth of his dream and being concerned for nothing?

The thought of a death sentence still occurred to him against his will; if that dream was going to maintain its Western setting and the charges against him were grave enough to deserve such punishment, that meant he would most likely have to go to the gallows.

The perspective of being hung made him shiver. Of course it was all just a dream; it was not guaranteed that it would turn out that way, and it should cease at some point eventually.  
But he was not looking forward to see the dream turn into a nightmare… And death by strangulation was the last thing Hanzo ever wanted to experience.

He could not say suicidal thoughts had never been on his mind before, but hanging was certainly not something he ever considered. It was a horrible way to go, too slow if done wrong and ultimately dishonorable for the body.  
In the times when depression had hit the hardest, Hanzo had always yearned for a quick, clean death. He had never carried out though, lacking the very energy to perform the act. Plus Genji depended on him. The writer categorically refused to leave his little brother behind while he was still alive.

When the cowboy finally stood and stretched, muttering that the farrier should be almost done by now, Hanzo's insides grew cold.

When he was pulled up and out of the room, he did not put up a fight. The writer had not forgotten that the bounty hunter owned a gun, and that the poster with his mugshot mentioned 'dead _or preferably_ alive'. If there was a chance he could make it, he would grasp it.  
If not, well… Maybe he could convince the cowboy to shoot him out of mercy.

– 

Too soon they found themselves standing before the Sheriff's, Hanzo clenching and unclenching his fists helplessly. He had purposely dragged his feet all the way from the Inn, but it did very little to to delay the inevitable.

The inside of the building, a simple office with an empty jail block, was as dusty and stuffy as the outside. More Wanted posters had been put up on the walls, all of them seeming to stare out at the newcomers. Too nervous to stare back, Hanzo looked away.  
They walked toward the desk, one of the rare pieces of furniture in the room. A debonair man was slumped over it, snoring quite loudly. A bottle was precariously near the edge of the desk; it was at least three quarters empty.  
Despite his distress, the writer raised a critical eyebrow. No wonder there were so many wanted criminals.

The cowboy pulled Hanzo's poster out of his pocket and slammed it on the surface of the furniture. The man sat up startled in the middle of a snore, eyes almost bulging out.  
“Hello Sheriff. Sorry to disturb your vigilant slumber. But I have this fellah to hand ya over.” The bounty hunter grinned, so cheesy and charming all of the sudden that Hanzo looked at him in confusion. It was like seeing two sides of one coin, with one utterly rusty and the other overly shiny.

The Sheriff straightened his back and adjusted his hat, trying to look remotely dignified. Neither the writer nor the cowboy cared to mention the string of dry saliva staining the corner of his mouth and chin.  
“Lemme see there…” He grabbed the poster, frowning over the paper as he deciphered the name. “Hanzo Sh'mada, dead or pref'rably alive…” He looked at the portrait, then Hanzo's face. The writer sustained the eye contact without blinking.  
“Well he sure is still breathin'!” The man finally sighed, as if otherwise would have made his day.

Hanzo did not take it too well. “What an acute observation. I was not certain myself whether I was using my lungs or not.” He quipped.  
It was assuredly not helping his case, but what was the point of restraining himself when his fate rested on this lazy imbecile?

The cowboy threw him a pointed gaze that withheld unconcealed amusement. He still gave Hanzo a little shove to shut him up. “He's got some spunk too, but you’ll have to forgive him. Son of a gun was havin' a hard time when I found him.  
\- I could tell so far. Maybe ya could have saved me some trouble an' bring him dead.” The Sheriff groaned, focusing back on the poster before handing it back to the cowboy. “D'you know what he did? Ain't nothin' on any of the papers we were given.”  
So even the Sheriff had no clue about his 'crimes' either? That irked Hanzo furthermore; this mystery was wearing his nerves down.

“I'm afraid ya know more than me on the matter sir.” The cowboy shrugged, carefully folding the poster and shoving it back in his pocket. “Same for the reward. Could be this was a rushed printin' an' the vital infos were accidentally left out, or it's a job for free… I still brought him in 'cause, as I always say, justice ain't gonna dispense itself.  
\- Yeah yeah McCree, it sure ain't.”

Hanzo perked up, surprised. The annoying cowboy had a name?  
He had never bothered to ask, because he believed the invented man did not have any and it was his job to give him one…  
Too bad it was not the information he so desperately needed to know.

“That's funny ya mention justice though, 'cause we just received a new batch of posters.” The Sheriff rummaged in a drawer and pulled a stack of paper sheets out. “Doesn't this fellah ring a bell to ya?” He sneered, presenting one to McCree.  
As soon as the cowboy saw the paper, he froze into place, warmth gone from his face. Confused, Hanzo slightly crooked his neck to get a glimpse of the paper.

The mugshot was a drawing of a young man with a stumble on his chin, wild hair and eyes so intense they seemed to stare into his soul. It was also something Genji had drawn, the familiar watermark distinguishable in the shading beneath the jaw.  
However Hanzo could not tell for certain if he had ever seen this portrait before. His brother had shown him a lot of things, to which he had payed more or less attention. He could not be sure.

Beneath the portrait, there was an impressive amount of text:  
'Wanted : Jesse McCree. $60.000.000 Dead or Alive! Deadlock member, drug dealing, degradation of government property, armed robberies of numerous banks & trains, murder…'  
The list went on and on, the rest of the crimes typed in characters much smaller, too small for Hanzo to decipher. He looked up at McCree; despite several years more and the wild beard now covering the strong jaw, there was no doubt he had been the young man on that poster once.

While he was not certain what 'Deadlock' referred to, he could tell from what he read that the cowboy was as dangerous and guilty as he was… Supposing the writer was wanted for his past crimes.

“Sheriff… Is this some kinda joke?” The cowboy laughed humorlessly, eyes locked on his own poster. “All of these, they're- they were youthful errors, horrible errors but still! I ain't that brat no more, I've worked hard t' make amends for what I did!” He vividly slammed the surface of the desk, nearly knocking off the bottle of whisky.  
“Sheriff, ya can't arrest me an' make me pay now after all this time!” 

The man was not touched with McCree's ardent rebuttal. Beside surprise and annoyance, Hanzo had not seen him express a single emotion. “Now pardner, I don't make the rules. If the higher ups decided they want ya, then ya're wanted. T'is that simple.”

A group of men suddenly stepped inside the office, all of them armed to the teeth. The writer instinctively backed against McCree. Being the only unarmed man in the room made him feel obnoxiously vulnerable, and the cowboy was technically the only one remotely 'on his side'.

“Now we can do this the easy, peaceful way where ya quietly surrender. Or we can go the hard way. As I've known ya for a while and appreciate the services ya've done us, I really don't wanna go for the hard way. But the boys an' I sure will if ya ain't reasonable.” The Sheriff warned, eyes squinting as his hand rested over the Winchester by his chair.

The atmosphere had drastically shifted from somewhat jaunty to electrified. McCree stayed quiet and still, until he slightly straightened up and stared down at Hanzo.  
The writer mutely stared back, completely stunned by the current situation and the worry that one twitch might set all this gunpowder on fire.

After a few second that seemed over an hour long, the cowboy slowly raised his hands up. “A'right a'right. Y’all chill, I surrender.” He sighed.

The relief of everybody else in the room could not be more palpable than if it had a physical form. The Sheriff stood from his seat, wiping sweat from his brow as he approached McCree. The other men had put their firearms away, now searching the cowboy for hidden weapons. “No hard feelings hey? It's like ya said. Justice-  
\- Ain't gonna dispense himself.” The cowboy finished, looking physically pained when his revolver was extracted from its holster. “Store Peacekeeper somewhere safe yeah? I want her in my casket, or at least buried in a hole with me.”

The gun was put away in the only lockable drawer of the desk, along with the impressive amount of trinkets McCree had concealed on his person. Hanzo was searched too, although the cowboy pointed out that he had already checked. The writer's skin crawled at the manhandling, and he had to clench his teeth when one of the men let his hands linger unnecessarily too long.

As they were shoved into separate cells, McCree in one across from Hanzo, the Sheriff cut the rope tying his wrists.  
Before the writer could thank him, he was abruptly punched in the jaw and sent falling back. Little did the plank of wood serving as a bed cushion his fall.  
Before he could retaliate, the Sheriff had already closed the cell. “Observe this chinaman.” The man spat before he walked off.

Hanzo slowly sat on the floor, blood boiling as he held his throbbing face. His bottom lip was injured too, cut on his upper teeth with the impact.

In the jail facing his, McCree grabbed the bars, flaming. “That was uncalled for, pinche cabrón!” He barked at the Sheriff. The man did not spare him one glance, returning to his desk to most likely pursue his nap.  
The cowboy gave his jail door a kick and sat down. Removing his hat to scratch his hair, he threw a glance at Hanzo. “Y'alright there?” He asked, almost shyly.

The writer grimaced, cautiously dabbing his lip with the collar of his shirt. He winced at the sight of the crimson stains on the grey fabric; one would think there was no bleeding in dreams, but he was bleeding alright.  
“Do you honestly think, after all of this, that I am _alright_ at the moment?” He groaned, glaring up at McCree. With the intensity of his stare, anyone else would have withered.  
“Right.” The bounty hunter sheepishly conceded, shoving the hat back on his head. “Ya sure had it rough ever since we met out there.”

He slouched against the closest wall and Hanzo had to tear his eyes away, for he was starting to feel pity toward McCree alongside anger. The writer was in this very cell because of the man himself, why should he have any empathy toward him?

Well… The cowboy had only acted out of duty, arresting a wanted criminal regardless of the crime and the reward (or rather the lack of both in Hanzo's case). After that the desert had taken a toll on him, the cowboy had given him a humane treatment, carrying him on the saddle instead of dragging his overcooked corpse through the desert. He had even paid for a room with a bath, allowed him to use that bath while granting him a moment's relief.

And now, by an unexpected turn of event, he was in the same mess as Hanzo, although the reason why was pretty clear and known of all. He had also surrendered without making any fuss, even though the writer had the sneaking suspicion that he would have taken on the Sheriff's associates if it were not for his sake.  
In fact, he had displayed nothing but absolute calm, until Hanzo had been hit.

That last point did move him more than he would dare to confess.

“I have been having it rough for a while now. This is certainly a different kind of 'rough'.” The writer muttered, moving near the wall and trying to make himself comfortable. The wooden plank was absolutely unappealing; there was little to no doubt that the dirt floor was cozier.  
“But you were just doing what you were supposed to do, 'dispensing justice'. And you spared my life even though it would have been much easier for you not to. Had I been in your place, I would not have been so… Tolerant.” He finally admitted, looking back at McCree. The cowboy raised his head, visibly caught off guard by his words.

“For bringing me here alive and making me a few favors, I should thank you. I cannot quite do so, considering we are both stuck here… But I wanted you to know at least that you have my gratitude.” He concluded with a nod.

A small grin made McCree's mess of a beard move. “Well I'll be damned. Ain't often that I meet a somewhat grateful prisoner.” He chuckled, his composure visibly relaxing. “Ya're somethin' else Hanzo Shimada. Could tell from the beginnin'.  
\- Do not strive too far with your flattering, or it will lose the little value it has.” Hanzo scoffed, refusing to even acknowledge the tiny appreciation he felt at the scruffy man's compliment.

Despite their sitting on the floor of a cell, the two prisoners fell in a comfortable silence. At some point, the writer felt his eyelids drop and he wondered:  
If he fell asleep now, would that mean his dream was over?  
Would it continue tomorrow night, or stop and never return?

Should one ask, he would say he did not care.  
Deep down, he dearly hoped the intriguing set would carry on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a twist!


	9. The safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original title was "Singing Cowboys"  
> (For the record, this is not a song fic, I just happen to make McCree sing every now and then)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! As I never tire to say so, thank y'all SO MUCH for every single kudo and comment you guys! It cheers my inner Hanzo up and fuels my inner McCree.
> 
> Here's the link to this [chapter's artwork](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/159650879121/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video)~  
> If you have not seen the previous arts, check them out and let me know if you liked them :3

If Hanzo had to listen McCree sing one more time, he was going to ask the Sheriff if he could kindly shoot the cowboy's brains out. Or his, as long as he got any sort of peace in return.

Never mind why his own mind would conjure up a hellish desert, or a bounty-hunting cowboy; it almost seemed like a detail by now.  
But why, _why_ would his mind make that cowboy bellow the most awful country songs he had ever heard before in his life?

It seemed the Sheriff shared his opinion on the matter; more than once he had walked to the cells and given the bars a kick so brutal it startled Jesse out of singing.  
Today he seemed a lot more fuming than usual.  
“Quit it McCree! I'm expectin' news bout ya an' yer pal at any minute, so ya'd better shut your trap once an' for all!” He shouted, before returning to the desk just as fast.

“I hate to say this, but I strongly agree with this man's enjoyment of silence.” Hanzo whispered, while McCree just crossed his arms and quietly tapped the rhythm against his prosthetic arm.  
The cowboy feigned overdramatic hurt, grabbing his serape and clenching the fabric above his heart. “Ah! _Et tu_ Shimada?  
\- I assure you that, after spending a few days listening to your oral prowess, anyone would find the value of peacefulness to have amazingly increased.” The writer snorted, refraining from smirking at the theatrical performance.

He realized he had straight up walked into a trap the moment Jesse smiled like a cat who got the cream. “Oh, I assure you sweetheart, ya ain't seen nothin' yet of my oral prowess.” The cowboy purred while wiggling his eyebrows energetically.  
Hanzo did not bother to hide his annoyance, rubbing his face and sighing heavily against his palms while his cellmate cackled maliciously.

They had been stuck in the cell for nearly a week now.  
Every night, Hanzo had awaken in the cell with McCree in the opposite one, the cowboy either snoring or doing anything he could think of to push boredom away. Anything, ranking from singing, smoking in the cell, finding all sorts of innuendos to flicking his spurs or cleaning his tasteless belt, just to piss the Sheriff (and incidentally the writer) off in creative, noisy ways.  
McCree surely met his expectations of what cowboys were; rude, crude, tacky and dirty.

Time to time the prisoners had fallen into hushed conversations, the cowboy usually chatting about random nonsense to which Hanzo replied sparsely; he was still angry at the cowboy for putting them in this hellhole, the empathy he first felt having left its seat to exasperation.

When the brooding writer utterly refused to engage in a conversation, Jesse would toss him a little piece of knotted string and challenge him to undo it. Some turned out easy, but others so ludicrously complicated that they might be worthy of the International Guild of Knot Tyers.  
It was a little fun and Hanzo indulged McCree whenever he felt patient enough to struggle with the knot or simply wanted him to stay quiet for a few minutes.

In the end though, the writer remained at loss regarding this recurring situation.

According to the law enforcer, they were expecting news from whatever higher authorities regulated these things in this dreamland, as to what to do with the two criminals in custody.  
After recovering from the punch, Hanzo had tried asking the Sheriff for a lawyer. All he got in return to his polite request was a fake laugh and the threat of getting punched if he opened his mouth again.  
He could definitely cross out getting a fair trial.

After several days in a row of waking up from his dreams frustrated, stuck at home because of the flu and reduced to disclose every single one of McCree's stupid antics in his journal just for the sake of writing something, Hanzo would not tolerate more of this nonsense.  
He had been so desperate and bored that he had bothered to search the signification behind the mystifying BAMF encased on the golden belt buckle. The varied results he got in return were all quite worrying, and he was not about to ask the cowboy exactly which meaning applied to his person.

Once he had felt healthy enough to move, his archery practice had served all the more as a catharsis. His target was now decorated with a cutout from a magazine ad, which he took a mean pleasure in piercing with arrows.  
The Marlboro cowboy looked nothing like McCree, but it did not make the bullseyes in his face any less satisfying.

The actual continuation of the dream from night to night completely threw him off-balance. Never in his life had he heard of this phenomena.  
Recurring dreams, that he was strongly familiar with. Lucid dreams were new to him, but they did exist.  
On the other hand, dreams that perfectly followed one another over the nights, in spite of a complete quarantine from any content such as Westerns, cowboys in general and country music? That was simply not possible.

The worst of all had to be the inability of telling anyone about this impossible occurrence. Any of Hanzo's friends would think he was finally giving under the pressure and losing his mind, if they did not already believe so.  
If he told Jack or Gabriel, they would probably send him to Ana, who would send him to Zenyatta, whom Hanzo refused to converse with in the first place and would keep away from no matter what.

It would only lead to someone getting fed up and forcing his hand.  
He was not about to put the married couple to which he owed so much, or the devoted doctor into such a detestable situation anytime soon.

–

On Sunday night, or rather the 7th day spent in jail, the hellish routine was finally broken.

One of the Sheriff's goons showed up in the office, excitedly waving an envelope and thrusting it at his superior. Hopeful, Hanzo moved closer to the door, holding the bars for support. At last, something was going on! If this piece of paper concerned their fate, all the better!

As the Sheriff silently read the letter, the writer's knuckles turned white from squeezing the metal too hard. McCree too stood up to move near the door, putting on a remarkable poker face as he waited arms crossed. Only his fingers discreetly flexing against his biceps betrayed his trepidation.

By the time the Sheriff left his desk and walked closer to the cells, the writer's stomach had twisted itself up into one of the cowboy's literal Gordian knots.

“Boys, got some news for ya both.” The man said, eyes darting between the two convicts. The cowboy stilled completely, eyes slightly narrowing while Hanzo held his breath.  
“Ya will both get the noose tomorrow. Sorry McCree, can't say I really liked ya… But ya were a good hunter an' a damn fine sharpshooter.” The Sheriff shrugged, while Jesse meekly nodded and withdrew from the door.  
Hanzo remained in place, completely paralyzed. They were to be hanged tomorrow… Without a trial, without anything resembling justice from afar.

Without a word to the writer, the Sheriff left the two recently condemned men and went back to his desk as if there was nothing amiss.  
His nonchalance was simply insulting, to the point it pulled the writer out of shock.

“McCree!” Hanzo hissed, keeping his voice as low as he could despite the rising outrage. “We cannot just sit back and let this happen! I do not care about what you did, you are responsible of your own crimes and free to accept the punishment. I however will not tolerate this complete farce, especially when I have not the faintest idea of what I will be hanged for!”

The cowboy looked up from scratching his beard, still seeming unmoved by the death sentence. But unlike the Sheriff's obvious indifference, that could be an attempt to hide rising panic behind apathy.  
“D'ya really think I don't know that, Shimada?” He spat, a glimpse of anger sipping through his reserve. “I've been diggin' my brain since day one to tryin’ find a way out.  
\- Well excuse me if I thought until now that you were more interested in wasting time away, because it has been all you've done so far!” Hanzo venomously snapped. “It is because of you that we are both here, it is thus your duty to get us out of here unharmed!”

The cowboy looked taken aback by his aggressiveness, yet he promptly recovered. “Thanks for the reminder.” He snarled, an ironic rictus showing sharp canines. “But ya forget somethin' sweetheart. I ain't the one who put yer face on a poster!  
\- And that is supposed to be the proof of my guilt in your eyes?” Hanzo sneered incredulously. “Someone plastering my face and name on a wall? What kind of backward thinking is this?  
\- Well ya must have done somethin' to earn yerself a portrait, these things don't appear by themselves for fuck's sakes!” McCree fumed, composure starting to slip away; he was grinding his teeth and his eyes had fire in them, like fiery ambers.

The writer clenched his fists so hard, his nails dug into his palms.  
“Your motto needs a correction. It should be 'justice is not going to dispense itself, for there is none'!” He growled, throwing a smoldering glare at the cowboy.  
“In the end, I was better off in the desert. Roasting alive would have been a better time by far than this... Charade, this ridiculous infection of a dream that you have ruined the moment you came into the frame!” By the end of his tirade, he had completely foregone whispering.

So did McCree.  
“Hey now don't ya fuckin' dare put this on me. I didn't rescue yer sorry ass for fun, I could've let ya dry out there or kill ya myself! If I brought ya here, it's so ya get what's rightfully yers!  
\- Well, Jesse McCree, maybe it does not matter to you whether I am innocent or guilty, but I certainly am not going to roll over and die because a tacky outlaw, cowboy-cosplaying, idiotic caricature of a fool decided it was the right way to go!”

McCree's pokerface completely melted off, eyes zeroing onto Hanzo's. If it had not been for the bars holding them back, they would have been nose to nose, if not already at each other's throat.  
“Now listen ya infeliz culero-” He flamed, extending a metallic finger toward Hanzo. Before he could properly retaliate, the Sheriff abruptly shooting at a wall made the two snap out of their fight.  
“If ya two are gonna engage into domestics, the hanging can be done t'day, right here an' now!” He barked, threateningly pointing his Winchester in their direction.

“Sorry Sheriff… We'll keep quiet.” Jesse spat dejectedly. He rubbed his face and sat down on the bench, Hanzo doing the exact same. With the sudden stop, all fight had left them; the writer now felt bitterly empty, lost without the tension and fury that had animated him.

Writing these dreams down had been utterly pointless since they would cease soon, he realized. Surely the strange continuity that had ruled over them would end once he 'died' swinging from the end of a rope.  
Going through this impending death was not what terrified him the most. It was the notion that all of this would disappear.

In spite of the lack of anything interesting happening over the last days, the heat, the obnoxious cowboy and his irritating attempts to keep the moral raised… They were such a drastic change in Hanzo's grey routine! They had nothing to do with the nightmares that had plagued his nights until now, they were colorful and inspiring.  
As much as he would hate to admit so, they had started to grow on him. 

Hanzo rubbed his eyelids until all he could see were sparks, trying to appease his distraught thoughts and focus. If McCree had been truly searching for a way out and not found a single idea in six days, he had little hopes of figuring anything out before the rope was around his neck.

What was that English idiom again? Closing the stable doors after that the horses have bolted?  
In this case, he found more logical to open the doors wide and let all the horses run out before they were led to the slaughterhouse.

It was when his vision returned that he noticed the piece of yellow fabric between his feet.  
Hanzo gazed at it in confusion at first, thinking he was seeing things. Frowning, he removed his fingers and blinked to chase the white dots and sparks out of his sight.

The tip of a yellow ribbon was definitely poking out from beneath the wooden board he refused to call a bed.

Hanzo shifted to get a better look, unaware of the hair slipping past his ears as he bent forward; the ribbon was actually half-buried into the bare ground right below the bench. Its fabric had a discreet golden pattern decorating its length, similar to the scales of a Koi.

The writer's deepened. He not only recognized that ribbon as his, but he also was absolutely certain that this had not been there the night before.

In fact, his hair had been loose the moment he fell in the desert. As he had always been wearing the nightclothes in the dream than what he had on when going to bed, he had been lacking the hair tie all along. Its presence here and now made absolutely no sense.

Definitely intrigued, he slipped down and seized the ribbon. He gave it a careful pull at first, then a more insistent tugging. Yet it did not give way, as if stuck in the ground.  
Grabbing the metallic pan that served as a water container, Hanzo tried scrapping off the dirt around the ribbon, mindful of not damaging the fabric.

A quiet puff made him look up; McCree was trying to catch his attention without alerting the Sheriff. “The hell are ya up to?” He whispered once their eyes met.  
“I am digging.” The writer replied emphatically, before returning to his task. Hopefully the gentle scrapping would go unnoticed, or else he was done for.

The cowboy let out a joyless, low chuckle. “Darlin', they aren't that stupid. The foundations go deep, with an extra length of metal grid. An' even if ya're motivated 'nough to dig that deep, you’ll be still at it tomorrow with that snail speed of ye-  
\- I am not talking about evading through a tunnel!” Hanzo cut, exasperated. “It seems that a shallow grave was dug under my bench. This ribbon was left as a marker, and I swear it was not here yesterday.”

McCree frowned, while the writer prudently continued his work. “Shimada, we never left our cells at all. If someone came in an' started diggin' under yer bed, don't ya think ya woulda noticed? What if someone just came by an' lost it, an' the wind pushed it there?  
\- … It is a possibility, but no one has visited us and ribbons do not simply plant themselves into the ground. Moreover I cannot pull it out, which means it is attached to whatever is underneath.”

His assumption was correct; once enough dirt was removed, Hanzo saw that the yellow strip was tied around some kind of metallic handle, the handle itself affixed to something much larger.  
However, as McCree rightly pointed out, he would still be at it by tomorrow if he kept scrapping the dirt this slow.  
He needed a distraction to cover up the sound of fervent digging, something loud but inconspicuous.

“McCree? I need you to sing.” Hanzo abruptly whispered, shuffling down any regret he felt for asking such a thing. As the silence that followed was worrying, he looked up and found the cowboy looking completely baffled.  
“Ya were the one shootin' me down 'bout my 'oral prowess' like yesterday, an' now ya want me to carry a tune?  
\- There is definitely something in the ground and I will have to dig a lot more than I expected.” The writer huffed impatiently. “So if you could do me a favor and do something to cover me up, even if it is equivalent to ear-bleeding quacking, I would be very grateful.”

McCree seemed to hesitate, which drove Hanzo mad. He would throw the metal pan at him if it was not his improvised shovel. “All you have done since we got here is being noisy! How can you be hesitating now?  
\- When ya're askin' for it, it's puttin' pressure on me ya know? Ya're givin' me stage fright!  
\- Just sing you fool!” The writer hissed, refusing to acknowledge he had actually said these words, meant them and dearly hoped he would not have to repeat them ever again.

The cowboy immediately obliged, probably wishing not to head straight back into another argument. “Hey Sheriff?” He called.  
“Don't mind if I do one last li'l folk song, for me an' Shimada? 'M afraid I won't be much in the mood to do it tomorrow, so now would really be the right time.  
\- … If ya really care, guess I can let it slide. But for the love of God, don't ya dare make my ears bleed or I'll gun ya down myself.” The man grunted back from his desk.

McCree gave Hanzo a little ecstatic wink, then he took a deep breath. Even though it was expected, the cowboy's sudden holler startled him and nearly made him drop the pan.

“O, Death! O, Death. O, Death… Won't ya spare me over 'til 'nother year...”  
McCree frantically waved at Hanzo to get moving, the writer shaking his head and starting to dig as soon as the next lyrics were sung.

“Well what is this tha' I can't see... With ice cold hands takin' hold o' me... Well I am Death, none can excel... I'll open the door t' Heaven or Hell...”  
Not only did the song unwholesomely fit with the sentence hanging over their heads, but the way McCree sang it was incredibly solemn; it gave Hanzo goose bumps all over his arms and back, along with the feeling he was actually digging his own grave.

Despite the few times the cowboy had to pause in order to catch his breath, remember the next lyrics or simply rest his throat, Hanzo had managed to make a hole large enough to pull out what revealed itself to be a large safe. Just to avoid seeming suspicious, the cowboy still continued singing until he reached the actual end of the folk song, even though the Sheriff had actually fallen asleep moments ago.

As he wiped the dust away off the wooden chest, Hanzo found it odd. The metallic ornaments on its corners and handles, it all gave him a strange sense of déjà-vu.  
The reason causing this feeling suddenly became clear when he uncovered enough dirt to see the symbol engraved on its lid.

Two dragons circling around each other, both biting into the tail of the other.  
The seal of the Shimada family.

“What's in it?” McCree whispered, his face almost pressed between two bars as he tried to get a good look at the safe.  
Speechless, Hanzo very slowly opened the box.  
A stunned silence followed as the writer uncovered the content: a carefully folded kyudo-gi along with matching hakama and a deep-blue obi, a yugake resting on top and a pair of jika-tabi tucked on the side.  
And beneath these clothes, at the bottom of the crate, Stormbow was resting along its quiver stacked with high-quality arrows.

An emotional turmoil burst within Hanzo and threatened to consume him on the spot.  
This was the attire he had worn during Kyūdō practice back in his early twenties, but sized to fit his present built.  
When he had fled Hanamura with Genji, he had only taken the strict necessary, with the exception of the bow and its quiver. Archery was a passion he simply could not leave behind, and he had the perfect suitcase to smuggle the weapon out of the country.  
That outfit however had been left behind, along with many more.  
Like a snake shedding its skin.

“Shimada?”  
McCree's curious whisper tore Hanzo from his thoughts.

“Clothes an' a bow?” The cowboy muttered, frowning at the gear. “The heck is it all doin' here?  
\- I do not know.” Hanzo replied softly, carefully withdrawing the items and resting them on the bench. “These... These are all mine.” He let his fingers run over the fabric of the clothes, lost in the familiar sensation of the silk.  
“So… Y're the one who put this underground.” The cowboy smirked, his gaze gauging the writer. “Ain't so innocent after all. D'ya actually stashed safes in all the jails of the West, in case ya got caught?  
\- Do not be ridiculous. How would I have smuggled this in my cell without your knowledge?”

What could he do with all of this?  
The traditional clothes would make an outfit far more practical than his current nightwear. As for the bow and the arrows, he could use these to threaten his way out of jail.  
That was it. That was the ticket to their salvation and the continuation of the dreams.

The fighting energy that had fled Hanzo returned with full force. “Turn around.” He bluntly told McCree before he pulled his shirt off.  
He was about to go for his pants when he noticed his cellmate had failed to oblige, looking beyond starstruck as his eyes were locked onto his chest. “Wha'?” He uttered, mouth slightly agape.  
“Turn around this instant you buffoon!” Hanzo hissed, the tip of his ears turning pink. “I am changing clothes, not giving you a show!”

–

“Ya done yet?” Jesse grumbled. He had been sitting in the far corner of his cell with his hat shoved over his face while Hanzo changed. The writer had strongly insisted he did so, for he did not trust the cowboy not to take a peek.

“Almost.” He uttered through his teeth, quite annoyed. Having not worn the traditional clothes in years, he had taken a little longer than he had hoped for. Thankfully the Sheriff seemed to have fallen asleep, or else he would probably have heard Hanzo cursing over his failing muscle memory.

Now fully dressed, he gathered his locks into a handful and delicately fastened the ribbon around them. Wearing the familiar attire stirred the storm that had seized his mind earlier, but a few deep breaths allowed him to stay in control of his feelings.  
“I am ready now.” He whispered firmly, bow in one hand and quiver strapped on his back.

McCree immediately jumped to his feet, adjusting his hat and flashing a relieved grin.  
“Finally! I thought ya'd never-…” He cut himself off, spluttering at the sight of his changed cellmate. Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the blushing cowboy, lips pressed into a thin line.  
Why did he have to look so… Dazzled? He had gotten stares before, but never so openly mesmerized.

“Well I'll be-wow. Ya definitely don't look much like a tenderfoot no more.” McCree coughed awkwardly, trying to regain some sort of decency. “Now that ya're all geared up, can we leave now?  
\- Why, you have finally come up with a plan?” The archer casted a critical stare at the cowboy, whose face was still a shade darker than usual.  
“Now don't ya think I've been slackin' off while ya were busy powderin' yer nose! I've been workin' my brain an'… I think I've got the perfect idea to get our butts out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge on Hanzo's clothes is what it is thanks to this [super helpful post](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/155257681556/hanzos-clothing-for-dumb-americans) and lots of googling.


	10. The Grand Escape… From jail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of the plan sets in motion…  
> Please check the notes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I can't believe this got over 200 kudos, I didn't think I'd even get above 50 when I started publishing it and I am genuinely overwhelmed so many people like this story ;-;
> 
> This chapter's gonna be a little shorter than the norm sadly.  
> The presidential election in France has taken a lot of my focus and strength away, to the point I could not even draw an art cover to go with this chapter.
> 
> And although I'm heartbroken by the results, [I've made a doodle dump so you guys still can have some art to go with the chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/159910026036/lucid-dream-somebodysomeone-overwatch-video)
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy, sorry for the shortness of that chapter ;3;

“So! What do ya think o' that?” McCree clasped his hands as quietly as he could. The Sheriff was still sleeping over his desk, his loud snoring punctuated by enervating silences and death-like rattles.  
“It seems… Doable. If you take my suggestions into account. But are you certain you will not be recognized?” Hanzo muttered back, sitting in seiza. Between the noises and trying to decipher McCree's barely audible whispering, he was starting to get a vicious headache. Thank gods for his renewed vigor and patience after such a breakthrough in their case.

“Nah.” The cowboy shrugged. “I mean, everybody kinda knows me already, they've seen me ridin' about plenty o' times. But that stack of posters with my face on it? Since the Sheriff had me on the hook right away, I doubt he even bothered plasterin' them all over town. Wouldn't be in his best interest either since there's a lot of cash in for my capture. There are people ballsy enough to try an' snatch me here, jus' to turn me back somewhere else an' get the dough.”

The archer carefully stepped out of his initial position, quickly dusting his knees and calves. “That is a risky bet… But we do not have a choice. Are you ready?”  
“Darlin' please.” Jesse immediately straightened up from leaning against the bars, tilting his hat at Hanzo. “I was born ready. An' ya?  
\- … I am ready.”

–

“Hey Sheriff?” McCree called out, abruptly waking the man from slumber. “Wha-what is it again now? Ya already had your darn song!” He crankily retorted, already burying his face back in his crossed arms.  
“I gotta have like, two words with ya now, it's real important.” The cowboy pleaded, sounding quite upset.

If it had been any prisoner, the Sheriff would have most likely flipped them off and promptly returned to his snore fest. But Jesse McCree had been an extremely efficient bounty hunter until his arrest; he deserved a few favors before getting the rope.  
Scowling, the man pulled himself out of the chair and moved toward McCree's cell. “What is it?”

Jesse approached the door. His face was closed, but the corners of his mouth were pulled up in a slight sneer. “Like I said, got two words for ya. An' it's real important.”  
The Sheriff threw a jaundiced glare in return, assessing McCree from head to toe. “Don't ya play games with me cowboy. Spill it out!” He barked threateningly.  
The cowboy slowly leaned forward, metal hand closing over one of the bars. “Behind ya.”  
The Sheriff's scowl deepened, his bland face wrinkling under the strain. “What did ya say?  
\- Ya heard me right.” McCree smirked, giving the man finger guns. Sensing a scam, the Sheriff spun around, hand over his holster.

Before he could pull his revolver out, he found himself facing the steeled head of an arrow.

“Remove your hand from your firearm.” Hanzo ordered sharply, targeting the Sheriff with his bow. The man was reluctant, boldly staring back at the archer with clear disgust.  
“Ya're a pansy, ya wouldn't have the guts to-  
\- Try me, I dare you.” The archer whispered disdainfully, pulling furthermore on the string to empathize his determination. “I can assure you that this 'chinaman', as you so _elegantly_ put it, would love nothing more than avenge his honor. Now, I would not stoop so low as to kill a harmless man, even when he is insultingly ignorant or intolerable…” He looked directly into the Sheriff's eyes, voice heated with unconcealed anger. “But I would certainly get him rid of his useless ears one by one, should he demonstrate difficulties to listen!”

McCree's whistle slightly ruined the dramatic effect, but it nonetheless convinced the Sheriff. Pale and resigned, the man slowly held his hands up.

The cowboy immediately snuck an arm out and grabbed the Sheriff's gun from his holster. With a trained shake of his wrist, he opened the barrel, letting the bullets clatter down onto the floorboard..  
Satisfied with Jesse's efficiency, Hanzo allowed a smirk to disturb his cold mask. “Now hand the keys over to the cowman-  
\- Darlin', I told ya a billion times, it's cowboy-  
\- Quickly now or I'll pin your skull to the wall.” The archer pressed, his smirk dropping almost instantly.  
Even though he had not maintained such a stance for so long, his arms remained strong and unmoving. Firing poor excuses for arrows on the rooftop of his residence had served him well in the end.

The Sheriff was just about to toss the keys at McCree, when the cowboy suddenly hammered the back of his skull with the cross of the unloaded revolver.  
The man fell down without as much as a sound, beside the thud of his body hitting the floor.  
Hanzo looked down at the Sheriff, then back up at McCree. “… What?” The cowboy frowned as his cellmate's scowl deepened.  
“You were supposed to hit him _after_ he gave you the keys.” The archer slowly enunciated, trying to retain his cold blood. “I thought I had stressed that part enough.  
\- Well it ain't a big deal! Look, I can grab 'hem.” McCree huffed. He knelt and reached out through the bars, sticking his entire arm out until his shoulder had him stuck.

The bunch of keys was just a few centimeters out of his reach, no matter how hard he pressed himself against the bars.

Sighing very slowly, Hanzo released his grip on the string and knelt down. He reached out too, going as far as he could plus using an arrow to have extra reach.  
But he found himself in the exact same predicament.  
“Now what!” He hissed, starting to lose his patience. The only breakthrough in days of insufferable routine, and the cowboy had ruined it in less than a second!

“Don't get yer kimono twisted in a bush darlin', I've got an idea.” McCree winked. He awkwardly sit back and reached for his buckle, hurriedly undoing the belt.  
“What do you think you are doing?” Hanzo sputtered, worried he would have to shield his eyes any second now. “Have you gone mad?  
\- Jus' watch'n learn.” Jesse grinned foxily, causing the archer more dread.  
But the cowboy just held the belt out of arms' length and whipped it out against the floor, hitting straight in the bundle of keys. It budged a bit, then a second strike brought it a little closer to the tip of Hanzo's arrow.

Immediately the archer made more efforts to reach the keys, even crooking his neck quite uncomfortably just to gain a few millimeters.  
A grunt coming from the unconscious Sheriff nearly made the two of them recoil. But Jesse's belt lashed out once more and finally the arrow could nudge the ring holding the keys all together.  
By the time the man woke up, Hanzo had got ahold of the keys and chunked them at McCree. Then he immediately brought the arrow back on the bow and aimed again, in spite of his neck and shoulder sore from the strenuous position.

McCree had to try a few keys before he found the one for his cell door and Hanzo's. But the archer kept the Sheriff under the threat of his bow all throughout the cowboy's fiddling, eyes never leaving his jailer's.  
He was so tensed that Jesse's punching the man square in the face nearly made him release the arrow. “Do you not think he has had enough now?” Hanzo huffed, although content to relax his stance.  
“Jus' buyin' us some more time. The guy woulda screamed like a pig the moment we left.” McCree shrugged. “Plus avengin' yer pretty face an' honor.” He added with a charming wink.  
The archer pretended he had not heard the last part and certainly did not find it remotely touching.

Together they dragged the unconscious Sheriff into Hanzo's ex-cell, dumping him inside the wooden chest and shutting the lid. They had to fold his knees in order to make him fit and were still unable to lock the safe, but the purpose was not to smother the man anyway.  
Just humiliate him and make his deputies waste time by having to extract him.

“Now what?” The cowboy asked once he had locked the door and thrown the keys in the opposite cell, also locked.  
“I suggest we find your horse and leave this town right now. As you pointed out, this man will immediately call for help the moment he wakes up, if his henchmen do not come to check on him first...” Hanzo paused, taking one deep breath.  
They were in a serious mess, each decision was going to be crucial for their survival. “Are there any other towns around? I believe you mentioned something about other places.  
\- A few other surround the desert, but there's a strong risk our mugs are exhibited all over these towns, an' bounty hunters are ready to travel far for a handsome reward… What I could do though is leave Lil' Bones' Creek an' head to my secret hideout.”

The use of the first person in its singular form did not go unnoticed. “You? What about me?” Hanzo frowned at McCree. “I just helped you out of here!  
\- Well ya seem pretty handy with that bow o' yers, I reckon you’ll be fine!” McCree grinned, passing by the offended writer and heading to the desk. He cracked the drawers open, rummaging through the Sheriff's stuff until he uncovered his precious gun and the confiscated bric-a-brac.

“… But I do not know my way around.” Hanzo blurted. Just when he finally had an advantage over this dream world, it was cruelly torn away from him. A mixture of anxiety and frustration was swelling in his chest, as he realized how clueless he was about this land, and how much he would have to rely on the cowboy until he got his bearings.  
“I do not know anything about this… land or whatever it is called! Without you… I am lost.” He confessed, looking up at the cowboy.

Either he had come out strong or his vulnerability snuck through the cracks of his mask, for McCree stopped smiling. He remained silent for a moment, the archer's chest tightening as he waited. He could almost picture the rusty gears spinning underneath Jesse's hat, as he weighed the pros and cons.

Whatever pros Hanzo had to offer must have tipped off the balance, for the cowboy nodded in agreement. The archer slightly bowed his head in return, careful not to show the real depth of his gratefulness.

“I don't mind ya comin' along… But I'm just lettin' ya in so ya can gather yer spirits an' leave once ya know where ya wanna go. Till then you’ll follow my lead. When I say jump, ya jump. Entendido hot stuff?”  
'This is my dream, why should you be in charge?' Hanzo wanted to protest. He did not, for he wanted to make it out of this dusty rat hole above all. His pride could suffer a few blows and ridiculous pet names a little while longer. “Understood.” He curtly replied.

Once he had all of his items back, McCree returned to the cell block, Hanzo hot on his heels. The cowboy opened the back window, climbing out first to check the surroundings. “All clear.” He hummed, offering Hanzo a hand.  
The archer stubbornly ignored it, managing to exit without getting his bow or quiver caught in the window frame.  
They contoured the Sheriff's Office and were just about to join the main street when McCree froze and extended an arm to stop Hanzo from moving further.

“Now I kinda see a problem arisin'… While yer new clothes are mighty cool, they sure as hell will make ya stick outta the crowd like a sore thumb.  
\- That is the kettle calling the teapot black.” The archer scoffed. “Have you seen yourself? A walking firework would seem rather plain next to your blanket, and the plaid nightmare hidden beneath.”

The cowboy mockingly held his hands up against his cheeks, smoothing the wild beard covering his jaw. “I'll take that as a veiled compliment. But you’ll still have ta hide yer face, it's everywhere in town scowling upon us mere mortals.  
\- And how do you suggest I do this?” Hanzo muttered.

“Darlin', the answer's right before yer eyes.” Jesse grinned, flicking the brim of his hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this new chapter nonetheless. I promise the next one will be far longer and with lots of action, because  
>  ***spoiler alert***  
>  these two are gonna kick some ass and gtfo of town!


	11. Don't look now… We're being shot at!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go with a long chapter!
> 
> For the billionth time, thanks a bunch for the kudos and comments! They fuel me on these difficult times.
> 
> Here's the [art I made for the chapter](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/160166403746/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-this-is-the), which is also a step-up from my previous ones! Do check it out and lemme know what you think of it please :D

“I must be looking absolutely ridiculous.” Hanzo grumbled under his breath. He must have said it a thousand times by now, but he could not be certain; he had lost the count quite early on.  
Next to him, McCree shook his head in disapproval. “Hon' why d'ya keep sayin' that? Ya look amazin'! Quit talkin' nonsense-  
\- Your fashion sense is nonsense.” The archer quipped, his current accoutrement making it impossible to throw the cowboy a smoldering glare without twisting his neck around.

They were walking side by side on the main street, trying to blend with the crowd. Despite McCree's assurance that it would help them searching for Sis and leaving unnoticed, it was poorly failing; all the pedestrians and bystanders they came across openly stared at them. And even if they had not, Hanzo was far too annoyed to look anywhere near detached, walking as rigidly as humanely possible.

He had the cowboy's serape draped over his back, along with his bandana covering his nose and chin, and a hat 'borrowed' from a sleeping drunkard on his head.  
The serape covered up the bow and the quiver, but it also kept the archer quite hot. As for the hat, it was a large fit and it tipped on the front because of his tied hair, making it hard to see forward. While it did a perfect job shielding his facial traits, it also annoyed the hell out of him.  
Not to mention that the fabric over his mouth also retained humidity with every exhale, which was absolutely infernal with the current weather.

They had left the Sheriff’s Office just few minutes ago and he already ached to tear all of the stupid get-up off.

In spite of Hanzo's vinegar, McCree was unwilling to back down with his ill-placed compliments. “I'm just sayin', ya’re simply stunnin'.” He went on, with a daring conviction.  
“I am simply appalled, that is what I am… And everybody is looking at us. How is taking this route a good idea when it just attracts so much unwanted attention?  
\- Maybe they’re starin’ cause they're amazed by how intimidating we look.”

McCree had ‘borrowed’ a vest hung out to dry on a windowsill. The piece of clothing did nothing to hide his chest armor; it was too tight around the back and he had nearly ripped a sleeve off by shoving his prosthetic arm inside.  
In the end, the cowboy had resorted to wearing it over his shoulders. It poorly matched with the Stetson, but it still helped him look slightly less conspicuous.

“Look. Appalled, ridiculous or whatnot, no one's recognizin' ya at least. That's what matters.” The cowboy sighed, patting Hanzo's shoulder. “They all know me 'round ‘ere, so it kinda looks I got myself a bounty-hunter pardner that dresses as good as I do, while I'm tryin' somethin' different for a change.”  
The archer wanted to flee the touch, but doing so would only make them seem a lot more suspicious. He made a noncommittal grunt in response.  
“Plus, havin' all that crowd 'round us is a better protection. It'll slow down our pursuers an' refrain trigger-happy folks from shootin' the place up.  
\- It also slows us down at the moment. But I see your point.”

Speaking of pursuers, the archer heard angry shouting in the distance behind them. He kept on looking straight ahead without hastening his walking speed, but he did give McCree's fingers a discreet pull.  
“Someone must have noticed our evasion, or the Sheriff woke up.” He whispered. McCree casually nodded in agreement, lazily moving his hand from Hanzo's shoulder to his holster. “We can't be rushin' out now, or we'll be spotted in a jiffy.”

Hanzo started wishing he could get a hold of his bow without causing a panic.  
“We are already standing out.” He hissed, tugging the brim of the hat up to look at the cowboy. “What if someone walks up to us? I cannot just look down at my feet the entire time and wait for the punches to come.  
\- Darlin', people in this town know better than talkin' to fishy-lookin' cowboys with guns. Plus… We've found her.” McCree stopped on his track, halting Hanzo and pointing ahead.

The cowboy's horse was standing by the Saloon entrance, reins tied to a pole. Judging from the way its hooves kicked into the mud and its tail angrily swatted the air, it was highly displeased.  
“I do not understand, did you not leave her at some sort of blacksmith?” Hanzo frowned, looking up at McCree with a wince. Despite the brim of the hat being out of the way, there still was their height difference that was not playing in his neck's favor.  
“The moment I got arrested, one of the deputies probably fetched Sis and sold her off behind the Sheriff's back.” The cowboy spat. “Look, here they are.”

Two men had walked out of the Saloon and stopped next to Sis. One of them looked familiar to Hanzo; he had been the one searching him for weapons upon McCree's arrest.  
The other however was a complete stranger, hypothetically the one interested in purchasing Sis.

McCree started walking again and the archer promptly followed. He did not like how they were heading toward the two men, his stomach coiling up in anticipation.  
The more they approached, the more they could make out the conversation between the Sheriff's goon and his unknown interlocutor.

“… Teeth are decent, legs seem a little crooked to me though. An' she looks mighty nervous too. Ya sure she's obedient?  
\- Well sir, I wouldn't be so surprised if she's a bad weed like her previous owner. But ain't no horse that can resist a good ol' bullwhip or red-hot iron. Otherwise I reckon I could always get a good deal outta her with the local butcher if ya ain't interested…”

Hanzo clenched his hands into fists, the tension in his belly replaced with seething anger.  
He may have never cared for horses, but that did not leave him insensitive to animal cruelty.  
The archer kept his calm, but a quick look at McCree made him realize the cowboy was not anywhere close to do so; his bottom jaw shifted as he gritted his teeth, the bushy beard not entirely hiding the angry tic.

Before Hanzo could say a word, the ex-bounty hunter directly jogged up to the two men, without a single care for the vest falling off his shoulders. “Hey! 'Scuse me yellow-bellied scums, but this horse's mine.” He said, right before giving the wide-eyed deputy a mean uppercut in the chin.

The man fell back into a row of carefully stacked of barrels; when the containers stopped collapsing around him, he did not get back up.  
The client was startled, but already making a move for his holster.  
Hanzo immediately rushed into action, stuffing the stolen hat into the man's face. Before the firearm could be drawn and blindly fired, the archer's palm struck him in the neck, rendering the man immediately unconscious.

A small crowd was starting to gather outside of the Saloon, having witnessed the quickly-ended fight or astonished by the current display of two passed-out men on the wooden floor and their attackers still present on the scene.  
“So much for not being spotted.” Hanzo commented, throwing a side glance at McCree.  
Ignoring the cold jest, the cowboy patted the horse between the eyes and untied the reins, while the archer happily got rid of the serape and the bandana. He threw them at McCree, who wasted no time putting them back on.

At the same moment, drunkards swarmed out of the saloon and a few curious bystanders attracted by the bustle had gotten closer. A peculiarly agitated group was rushing toward them, the Sheriff leading them.  
As soon as McCree spotted them, he leaped onto the saddle and extended a hand out to help Hanzo.

The archer was reaching out for it, when he was distracted by a flash of color in his peripheral vision. Abruptly looking away from the cowboy, he searched for the source of the color and saw someone dive into the crowd hastily.

All he had caught of their face was a small glimpse, but the neon green hair left no doubt in his mind.  
“Genji?” He whispered, his voice so faint he hardly heard himself over the commotion.

Ignoring all common sense, the angry mob approaching and McCree shouting at him to come back, Hanzo ran through the crowd. Pedestrians moved out of his path, scared and gasping; they might have seen his face on posters after all, or it was the impressive bow on his back that made them shirk.

The archer was barely aware of anything around him, except for the small hints of green he managed to catch in the crowd.  
Maybe he was just seeing things out of desperation. Maybe he wanted to see his little brother wake up so much that his wish had influenced the dream.

Deep down, he knew that dreaming of Genji was not going to change a thing; his brother would still be in a coma on his next visit, still in that cruel parody of peaceful sleep.  
And yet he desired to see Genji well, speaking and moving, even if it was all just a dream.  
Even if Genji would assuredly curse his name and reject him for putting him in a hospital bed.

Hanzo blindly pursued after the green-haired runaway, until he rushed into a dead-end street. It was utterly deserted and silent; no sign of his brother, or anyone for that matter. Not even a stray cat.

The archer was now utterly alone.

Frazzled, he muttered a curse beneath his breath and rubbed his face to regain his senses. He had lost Genji, although his abrupt disappearance made him wonder if he had not just hallucinated in his own dream. If that was even possible.

But there was no time to ponder on it; Hanzo had to find McCree before either one of them got caught, and get the hell out of this powder keg of a town.

The sound of multiple footsteps made the archer snap out and spin around, bow drawn and arrow ready to be fired.  
A dozen cowboys along with the Sheriff were now blocking his way out of the dead end. This time, Hanzo ostensibly cursed; they must have gone after him as he was madly pursuing a ghost, and he had practically delivered himself to them on a silver tray by running into a corner.

“Well, well, well. Looks like it’s the end of the road for ya.” The Sheriff sneered. Hanzo took aim at the man, but most of his opponents already had their guns out and were ready to take him out.  
The man raised his hands in a semblance of peace.  
“No need to fight back. McCree’s gone, he ran off with his nag in the opposite direction an’ left ya all alone here.  
\- You are lying.” Hanzo retorted, eyes narrowing and fingers tightening around the bow.

He had no actual way to really tell whether the man was bluffing or not, but he could not imagine McCree abandoning him to his executioners.  
Even though he had been nothing short of acidic and antagonistic toward the cowboy, the man had freed him out of his cell when he could have simply left him locked up, and offered him to come along in the face of his vulnerability without mockery. Thus he could not picture that same man leaving him stranded in a town that wanted him dead.

The Sheriff’s voice unpleasantly pulled his focus back to their presently standoff.  
“Either way, if ya don't wanna obey, then you’ll eat lead an' turn up back in my office feet first.” He paused to spit on the floor and take a bite of chewing tobacco, despite having an arrow targeting him. “So if that ain't yer cup o' tea, you’ll slowly put that arrow, and the rest of yer silly gear, on the ground.”

Hanzo did not move one bit, mind racing to figure a way out.  
Climbing onto a roof, trying for a window, taking out one of his opponents… Any course of action would result in his getting shot. He had no shelter to take cover from the fire, the cul-de-sac completely bare. And while Hanzo was fast, he could not outrun or dodge a dozen bullets fired all at once.  
And whether McCree was actually gone or not, he was still irrefutably alone against a pack of impulsive cowmen.

“Make up yer mind pronto!” The Sheriff snapped impatiently, pulling a revolver out of his holster and pointing its barrel at Hanzo's face.  
The archer clenched his fist helplessly around the bow. He had no choice but to surrender.  
However it would not change the sentence looming on his head; the noose was certainly slower than a bullet, but it would assuredly end him too. And there was no getting out of prison a second time, his jailers would make sure of it.

He could always take a final shot, 'go with a bang' as McCree would say.  
But that would be swearing off the oath he made to Genji after leaving his clan; he was not a Yakuza anymore, he should not shed any more blood than what he had already spilled.  
If it were for his brother's sake, he would absolutely break the promise. But for his own?  
No. His own life was not worth it.

Hanzo was about to abdicate and lower his bow, when the distant sound of clopping graced his ear. And it was not an auditory hallucination; a couple of his opponents looked around in confusion, searching for the source of the noise.  
The clopping got louder and louder, the mob nervously maintaining their aim at the archer.

Then all hell broke loose, when a horse mounted by a cowboy appeared on one of the rooftops. All heads turned to them, Hanzo's included.  
The sight of the familiar serape could not have been more comforting.

“Make way!” McCree yelled, before he made Sis jump down straight in the middle of the group.  
The men hastily dispersed to avoid getting crushed beneath the forelegs of the horse, some rolling away and others tripping onto each other.  
Taking advantage of the confusion and the cloud of dust raised by the mayhem, Hanzo darted toward McCree. The cowboy extended his metallic hand, which Hanzo clasped without hesitation, and pulled the archer onto the saddle.

Hanzo barely had the time to sit behind McCree that a sharp tug on the reins and a howl got Sis on the run.

They took off, leaving the alley and reaching the populated main street. With the horse’s speed, the crowd was nothing but a sea of blurred colors splitting on their path to let them through. And just like that, the buildings disappeared, replaced by a flat and mahogany landscape.

They were out of Little Bones’ Creek.

–

If sitting on a walking horse had felt uncomfortable in the first place, trying not to slip off a running horse was pure hell in comparison.

Hanzo had no stirrup for his feet. In order not to slide off, he could only wrap his arms around McCree's waist and hold onto him, like a sailor clinging to a mast in the middle of a storm. The red serape whipped at his face and arms, the wind picking up with their speed and blowing through the fabric.  
How Jesse's Stetson had not flown off already was a mystery he had no time to give any thought about.

Above the whistling of the wind and his own heartbeat hammering into his ears, the archer heard McCree whooping, and distant bellowing coming from behind. A quick look above his shoulder confirmed his dread; they were being chased by an army of cowboys on horseback. And they all held a firearm, even two for some.

And they were aiming at them.  
Having absolutely no protection whatsoever, the archer hunkered down against McCree and tried to make himself a smaller target.  
Several bullets whizzed past them, the smell of powder almost as powerful as the horse's.

It took Hanzo a moment to realize that Jesse was talking to him, as the mixture of the loud gunshots, the horse's hooves stomping the ground and the wind howling deafened him almost entirely.  
“D'ya mind shootin' at these guys with that fancy bow o’ yers? That will slow them down for sure!  
\- Are you out of your mind? I will do no such thing! If I let go of you, I will fall off!” Hanzo screamed back, squeezing Jesse's waist with the sheerest strength he could muster to stay in place. If it were not for the body armor, the cowboy's ribs would have been reduced to dust. “You are the one with the gun, why don’t you shoot?  
\- Can't do that darlin', not with the stuff incomin'.” McCree shouted, eyes on the torturous path. “Ravines, prickly bushes, sawgrass, cactuses, rocks an' all kinds of unpleasant stuff are gonna be our lot. So trust me, you’ll want me focused on the road an' not doin’ clay shootin'!  
\- McCree, I will fall the moment I release you!” The archer stressed, giving the chest armor a punch.

“Nah ya won't!” The cowboy chuckled. He reached out behind his back and gave Hanzo's obi a pat. “I'll hold onto yer belt while ya do it, so don't worry yer pretty head 'bout it! I can handle the reins with one hand, that ain't much of an issue.  
\- But I have never fired arrows from a horse's back in my entire life! How do you expect me to hit anything in these circumstances?” 

The cowboy threw a quick look at Hanzo from above his shoulder. “Only ya can do it doll face. An' even if ya can't hit ‘em, ya sure can scare ‘em with yer death glare!” He then looked back at the road, gripping Sis' reins with one hand.

Hanzo bit back a loud curse and freed his left arm from the gi. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, the archer riskily pivoted to face their pursuers. He swiftly readied the bow and swallowed, already feeling about to throw up with this awkward stance and the turbulences rocking his organs. While McCree's hand clutching the fabric of his obi made up for not holding onto anything, it did little to stabilize him.

Forcing himself to tune out the overwhelming sensations, Hanzo took several deep breaths.  
The gunshots and mad clopping gradually faded away, even the blood pulsating in his temples, as he sought to appease his thoughts and reach spiritual peace.

 _“Shin-zen-bi.”_  
Truth, goodness, beauty.  
 _“Seisha seichū.”_  
Correct shooting is correct hitting.  
 _“Munen musō.”_  
No thoughts, no illusions.

_His mother released the arrow. It flew with an amazing speed over the grass, so fast his eyes could hardly keep up. It reappeared in the very middle of the target, twenty-eight meters away from them.  
She then rested the bow into his small hands and pointed at the matoba, one of her rare smiles stretching her pale lips.  
“Your turn, musuko.”_

The archer exhaled slowly. He firmly held the arrow, the string of his bow completely pulled.  
He took one deep breath, partially exhaled, aimed, then released the arrow.

One of their pursuers cried out, the arrow now sticking out of his bicep.

McCree took a peek above his shoulder and whistled when he saw the injured cowboy retreat from the middle of the mob. “Nice shot sweetheart, I knew you could do it!” He beamed   
Hanzo did not bother to mention that he had been aiming at the man's leg; he was more than happy to have actually hit someone without killing them, and the small praise warmed his core.

The next shots were more or less lucky. A few arrows missed their marks, fleeing out of sight or clattering against whatever element got in the way (canyon walls, other large rocks, or a poor cactus among others), until Hanzo fully accommodated his aim to the galloping.  
From that point he managed to hit his marks, more of the pursuers giving up on the chase due to arrow-related injuries or firearms shot out of their hands.

Despite their ranks thinning, the remaining men kept on going. They no longer fired, either out of ammunition or dissuaded by Hanzo's marksmanship. But they had yet to slow down; only McCree's acquaintance with the tricky path and Sis' strong strides maintained a good gap between them and the angry mob.  
The archer kept on firing, worried they would catch up on them or decide to have another go at the shooting range if he did not keep up.

A hand pulling at his arm forced him to release the bow string. The arrow he had been holding flew too low from its original mark, although severing the leather bond of a saddle and sending its owner onto the ground.  
“What?” He barked, furious that the cowboy had broken his focus.  
“Ya might wanna hold onto me now sweetheart, 'cause this is gonna get real rough!” McCree yelled, releasing the Obi to grip the reins with both hands.  
Hanzo hurriedly shifted position to face the cowboy's back and see what the hell he was on about, secretly a little pleased not to be seated backward anymore.

The realization of what McCree meant hit him so hard and fast, it wiped his mind clean more efficiently than the meditation prior kyūdō.

They were heading straight toward a ravine, the horse not deviating her course despite the incoming danger. From what the archer could see, the gap was way too large to be jumped over.  
Yet McCree was leading them right to it, clacking the reins and spouting Spanish at his horse.

Hanzo did not have the time to protest, or question the cowboy's mental health, or insult him profusely.  
All he could do was clamping onto Jesse's waist and watch in silent horror as the ravine got inexorably closer and closer.

The horse jumped, and the archer's sight abruptly darkened.

A shout dying on his lips and legs wrapped in his blanket, Hanzo suddenly woke up.

–

By the time Hanzo had gathered his spirits and written down the recital of his dream, he was absolutely fuming at Jesse McCree.  
How could he just condemn them all to a pitfall, after escaping death twice by just a hair? The cowboy was utterly reckless and idiotic!  
The writer was not certain if his awaking could be attributed to McCree's stunt or the morning alarm programmed on his phone. Whichever was responsible, the dream had stopped at the worse time possible; an actual, literal cliffhanger!

As he quickly warmed up what remained of the pumpkin pie for breakfast, he bitterly wondered if the next dream would be about the two of them plus the horse making acquaintance with the bottom of the ravine. Or if there would even be a next dream, since it was highly unlikely they would survive the fatal leap.  
A part of him, which he wished he could not acknowledge, hoped dearly that it would not be the case. That this wonky, exhilarating adventure would continue, no matter what insanity or shenanigans it reserved for the future.

After managing to break out of prison and dodge a death sentence, braving a canyon while undergoing a gunfight and firing arrows on horseback, it would be heartbreaking to die at the bottom of a pit.

Hanzo shook his head and forced himself to calm down at great length. Today was Monday; he had to visit his editors. Both men were sharp as hawks and his agitation would certainly not go unnoticed if he did not make further efforts to repel his emotions.

As he prepared his bag and carefully placed the poem in a worn folder, he still had not reached a reasonable level of calmness.

He felt worse in fact, nervousness regarding the poem adding itself to the lot.  
In order to differ from his latest submissions, he had thoughtfully read his own journal, especially the early notes on the dreams. After much thinking, he had decided to base the piece on his very first entry.  
Bold move, considering it was a sharp turn from his usual submissions.

Hopefully the piece would stand out and be better received than the previous one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to the next~
> 
> Btw, I do realize I use lots of Japanese terms. If you think I should put their significations in the end notes, do let me know .3.


	12. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: salty tit™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello y'all!  
> Billions of thanks for your support and kind comments, you kept me spirited on these last two weeks!  
> For those who are worrying I'll quit on the fic, fear not; this is the 1st time I put my writing at the service of one of my fandoms, and I sure as hell will finish what I started (•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑)
> 
> [Please check out the couple doodles I made for this chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/160419607721/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-hello-yall)  
> No art cover sadly, I was way too nervous about the French elections to draw anything decent.  
> I hope you'll enjoy the doods anyway, and this chapter ( ˘ ³˘)♥

On the train to the city, Hanzo was able to put his boiling mind at ease thanks to a song.  
He had been gazing at the landscape scrolling by the window, when the melody had just popped up unannounced in his head and persisted despite his attempts of thinking about something else.

He had been quick to recognize it as one of the many songs McCree had hummed back in jail, one of the rare ones he had tolerated.  
Although the man had catastrophic tastes in music, he sure had a nice singing voice. A soothing, deep voice that was so enjoyable Hanzo was willing to forgive the few times Jesse got out of tune, and the thickness of his Southern drawl making some of the lyrics incomprehensible.  
The country songs he could simply not stand however. Hearing one was hearing them all, and one time was too many.

Thankfully this peculiar one he was currently stuck with was more of a melancholic lullaby.  
The buzzing loudness around him eventually became a faraway whisper, while the cowboy's catchy humming echoed in his ears.

–

By the time Hanzo reached his station and caught the bus on time, he felt remotely appeased.

That peace lasted until he arrived at Overwatch Editions, the nervousness he had felt about submitting his poem coming back with a vengeance. A part of him wanted to grab his notebook and hastily piece up something completely different to avoid a disaster, while the rest struggled to fight the urge.

There was nothing wrong about trying something different for a change, and the couple was not going to lay him off for one poem they did not appreciate. Or else they would have definitely ended their arrangement a while ago.  
But the irrational fear that he might lose his one income was louder. 

It got quite worse when Gabriel and Jack welcomed him in their office, his stress so obvious that the couple led him to the chair and graciously offered him a drink. They started off with small talk, Hanzo taking the opportunity to thank them for the delicious leftovers when he found himself able to utter more than two words at a time.  
Now sitting comfortably with a cup of hot tea, the writer waited while his two editors deciphered his work.

The wait was all the more suspenseful, Hanzo fidgeting in his seat and slowly turning the mug in his hands. The beverage was too hot to be sipped yet, although the heat slowly diffusing through the ceramic was doing wonders for his freezing fingers.  
The lump in his throat made drinking impossible anyway, his attention centered on the couple as he searched for any non-verbal cues manifesting dislike.

Having not expected them to react in any positive way, the writer was pleasantly surprised to see otherwise; a small smile stretched Morrison's lips and Reyes's frown progressively melted away, into a less sullen expression one might call 'relaxed'.

“Not bad cabrón.” Gabriel nodded, resting the paper on the desk and looking up at his confused protégé. “Completely different theme, kind of unusual… But it's bold! And definitely a breather from Baudelaire's spiral of despair.”  
Hanzo just stared, silently mouthing ‘Baudelaire’s spiral of despair’ with a frown. Was that supposed to be flattering or insulting?

“Have you been in a desert?” Jack asked, either interested or trying to take the attention off the ambiguous compliment. “Back in my youth, I was sent to one on a mission for a few weeks. What you describe speaks to me on so many levels that I cannot help but wonder!  
\- Yes I have actually, a brief visit in the Sahara during the cruise on the Nil river… It left a strong impression on me.” Hanzo quickly replied, offering an attempt of a smile that translated into a tiny twitch of his lips.

While that was not the actual base of his inspiration for the poem, he did take a few steps at the edge of the infamous desert… Before rushing back in the air-conditioned bus that had brought him there shortly after.  
At least he had been brave enough to go outside and embrace the inferno; Genji had refused to set even a toe out of the cool vehicle, moaning about the hellish heat.  
In spite of their difficulties adjusting to the extreme weather, they had both enjoyed themselves on that trip. It had been their first vacation trip together ever since they had left their home… If not the actual first vacation trip they ever had in their entire life.

A blunt clap on the shoulder startled Hanzo back to present time. “Good job Shimada! That should fit with our next month’s special number on climate change.” Gabriel nodded enthusiastically, slightly shaking the writer. Seeing him in such a good mood was simply bizarre to say the least; the writer could not recall seeing him this happy on these meetings in a while.

“I will take my leave then.” Hanzo muttered, resting the untouched tea on the desk.  
As he rose from his seat, Jack raised a hand. “Before you go, some of our colleagues heard you were sick and asked about your wellbeing… It'd be nice if you dropped by their office and said hi. If you have the time and are feeling up to it of course.  
\- I will consider it.” The writer replied after a small pause.

–

If Hanzo took the fire escape in order to make a discreet exit, it was not out of cowardice. As Jack put it, he simply was not “feeling up to it”.

It was already a challenge facing the few people he had to mandatorily see every Monday, but facing his entire circle of friends, only to see the worry and pity concealed beneath caring, was all the more difficult.  
It made him feel all the more ashamed to be such a burden on their lives, a feeling that had only kept on growing for the past months. They were all visibly doing well, but they had to have their own problems. They should not have to bear with his own issues.

Should his mood have improved by next Monday, he would take the time to catch up with his coworkers. Maybe.  
Today he definitely preferred fleeing through the back door over dealing with anyone else.

However he had not gone halfway down the stairs when a familiar voice called him from above. “Ninja-ing your way out, aren't you?”  
He looked up; Hana was peeking at him through the gap between the metallic steps. “Ninja is not a verb, and I have places to go to. I merely wished to save time.” Hanzo huffed, a little mortified to have been caught so easily.

“If you don’t rat me out, I won't.” The young woman shook the can she was holding for emphasis, before gesturing at him to approach.  
Quieting down a small chuckle, the writer went upstairs to face her. “You hide up here to consume that repulsive concoction you dare qualify as drinkable?  
\- It's here, in the restrooms or under the desk in my office.” Hana pouted, before taking a long sip out of the colorful can. “It’s not like I’m trying to sneak out unseen, unlike _some people_. Here at least I have less chances of getting caught and scowled on my health by the Dads.”

She patted the spot next to hers and Hanzo sat down on the step without arguing. It was not exactly clean, but the seats in public transports were far from being any better.  
“I work all night to keep up with my schedules, especially when I get a surprise art block.” Hana deplored, removing the condensing drops of water from the can. “After all-nighters, I need my energy drinks! Or else it's not D.Va you get, it's zombie Va. And she's neither pleasant, nor productive.  
\- I am not going to judge, I understand what you mean.”

Hanzo hesitated. It was a secret to no one, but the subject remained difficult for him to evoke. “I did rely on complements to stay on tracks back at the apotheosis of my career.  
\- You did not just stay on tracks, you were blasting full steam all the time.” Hana elbowed him playfully, before her face suddenly went sour. “The train wreck that followed was… Well it was horrible, but it got you off at least.  
\- At a cost much too great I am afraid.” Hanzo bowed his head, the leather of his jacket protesting as he clenched his biceps.

The young woman patted his back. A heavy silence settled between the two of them, until she handed him her drink. “Hey, you want to give it a try?” She wiggled the colorful can. “It’s raspberry-flavored.”  
Hanzo looked at it wearily, but he obliged and reluctantly accepted the drink. Maybe it was not as bad as people made it sound like.

While a small sip made him frown, a mouthful made him wince. The beverage tasted absolutely disgusting, the chemical aroma and unreasonable amount of sugar too much for his liking.  
“It feels like melted candy and soap.” He muttered after forcing himself to swallow. “How can you stomach this?  
\- Years of consumption and a tough metabolism. And I actually like that sweet taste of power.” Hana solemnly straightened her back, hitting her chest with her fist. “Maybe one day you will get as tough as I am, young padawan.  
\- I think I will mostly get diabetes on top of palpitations if I keep on drinking this. No thanks.” Hanzo scoffed, handing her the can back. Now he regretted not having that hot tea anymore, it would have efficiently cleansed his mouth of the taste.

“Well you tried and that’s what matters.” She chuckled, downing the rest of the energy drink. “Speaking of trying things! My block buster idea, did you try it? Did it work?  
\- You tell me. I zapped through channels as you said, got through a ridiculous amount of distasteful sitcoms and stupid shows before I stopped for a few seconds at a Macaroni Western-  
\- Don't you mean Spaghetti?  
\- That is the exact same thing. Anyway I quit afterward, too obnoxious and a waste of my time. Then I tried to sleep and spent the night dreaming about being chased by a terrifying cowboy in a boiling hot desert.” Hanzo said in a single breath. “I ended up writing about the desert, but left the cowboy out for reasons beyond my understanding.” 

Hana burst in laughter, the can slipping from her fingers and clunking down the stairs.

–

The rest of the day flew by, Hanzo anticipating tonight's dream with a mixture of impatience and dread. The medical checkup was pretty short, as he had made a full recovery and found no complaints to share about his current treatment.  
As for Zenyatta's session, it felt all the more pointless. The writer was so out of it, he stayed about twenty minutes before snapping and hurriedly excusing himself out.

Once Hanzo was back at the flat, the anticipation did not tone down. Practicing his aim on his new target, an empty crate (the panel decorated with the Marlboro cowboy having succumbed to his frustration after days of abuse), hardly helped.  
He even had a hard time eating dinner that night, his stomach tied up in knots. All he was able to take was a mug of soup and nothing else.

When it was finally time to take his medication, he swallowed the pill dry and tucked himself away in the futon.  
He remained anxious the entire time it took for the drug to finally have its effect, until drowsiness finally swept him away.

–

First light, excruciatingly bright.  
Then a fuzzy patchwork of colors, mainly bright blue, mahogany and scarlet.  
As his sight adjusted to the luminosity, the patches smoothly dissolved into neater lines and details; the colors became the sky, the canyon, and McCree's serape.

Hanzo was frozen in time, along with Jesse and his horse. The ravine was below them, Sis suspended in the middle of her jump. All he could do was looking around helplessly, heart starting to hammer faster at the prospect of the incoming fall.   
Then everything abruptly started moving again, as if someone had pressed the 'play' button on a remote controller. The horse pursued its trajectory over the gap, the archer nearly choking as a scream worked its way out of his throat.

The recoil of Sis's hooves meeting solid ground cut short to his yell, his face slamming into Jesse's back. Stunned by the impact and the pain flooding in his nose, it took Hanzo seconds to understand what had just happened.

They were not dead.  
They had made it over the ravine, the horse's galloping at full speed having given her the necessary inertia to land on the opposite edge.

Roars of disbelief and anger made the archer look above his shoulder. Even though the mob had chased them all throughout the difficult path with arrows raining down upon them, none of its participants had been courageous or foolish enough to attempt the jump.  
Now they were dumbstruck, helpless and enraged. Some had thrown their hats on the soil out of frustration, others their empty firearms.

“So long suckers, till the next high noon!” Jesse howled mockingly, waving his Stetson at the group. Then he heeled Sis's sides and they took off into the wildness.

Hanzo had not realized he was still gripping onto McCree's back like a koala onto a tree, until the cowboy stopped his horse and patted his white-knuckled hands. “Y'alright darlin'? We made it, ya don't need to keep crushin' my ribs no more.”  
The touch snapped Hanzo out of the stupefaction clouding his brain. A wave of relief crushed him, violently followed by burning anger and utter discomfort. He jerked away from McCree and leaped down, panting heavily. His thighs were cramping up, and his stomach was doing somersaults.

As soon as he was able to breathe normally, he went to the cowboy and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him down the saddle. “Wow wow-hey! What's the big idea-” McCree stuttered in confusion, until he was shoved against Sis's side. The horse huffed in annoyance, but did not budge from her spot.  
“What the hell were you thinking?” Hanzo screamed, fingers digging harshly into the cowboy's shoulders. “Are you out of your forsaken mind?”  
While McCree had been remarkably stoic after his little stunt, he was now utterly startled by the archer's blunt outburst. “What are ya yellin' at me for? I got us out of that mess!  
\- By nearly plummeting down into a ravine? We could have died!  
\- Hey now, we've made it out! I knew what I was doin' an' Sis pulled off worst jumps than this one. So calm yerself down darlin', ya look like ya're gonna explode.  
\- I might, if you call me _darling_ one more time!” The archer spat, jabbing a finger at McCree's face.

“How 'bout sweetheart then?” The cowboy suddenly said, undisturbed by the index inches away from his nose.  
Hanzo just blinked in response, and somehow that made McCree feel comfortable enough to continue. “Doll face is fine too then? Cupcake? Sweetie? Sugarplum?  
\- T-that's- No, stop! None of these! Why are most of these so sweet-centered even? How could I seem like a sweet person to you? I just shot arrows at people! I have killed before! And that is not the point anyway, you reckless swine!”

Jesse let out a booming laugh, scaring a few birds out of the nearest dry trees. The sound was warm and rich, smoothing the edges of Hanzo's anger even though it aimed at him.   
“Swine? What kinda insult is that?” McCree chuckled, slightly leaning toward the archer. The mocking tone and the reminder of their height difference irked Hanzo, sapping what little bit of cold blood was left in his body. “Ya had gotten way cooler earlier with all the archery an' all, but ya pulled yerself back to tenderfoot level in jus' one word.  
\- I could say a thousand things that would make your brain choke on itself, if a single one did not already do the trick.” The archer slowly replied, fuming and struggling to hide the tremors shaking his body.  
“What, like cowman?” The cowboy hummed nonchalantly, as if waiting for the pun of a bad joke.

His patience ran out quicker than a cat out of water.  
“Narrow-minded caveman! Foolish buffoon! Parody of Macaroni Western! Country-spouting ignominy!” He shouted at the cowboy's face, his voice reverberating on the canyon walls. “It is not the noose that will be the end of us, but your recklessness! You think luck is always going to protect you? One day it will run out Jesse McCree! And when that day happens, death will be right around the corner!”

More birds fled the trees, while the two men silently stared at each other. Hanzo was fuming, waiting for McCree to lash out or strike him just so he could retaliate. But the cowboy did not make a move, hazel eyes piercing into the archer's. It was hard to tell if he was refraining from scolding or smiling, his poker face back with force.

Neither men backed down, until Sis turned her head and started nibbling at McCree's shoulder. The cowboy finally cut an end to the standoff, petting the horse's head and muttering soft Spanish to her. While Hanzo did not speak a word of the language, it seemed likely that McCree was giving her praises.

“We could stay here all day doin’ a stupid yellin' contest, or go somewhere safe to rest. Ya don't look too good an’ I could use a breather myself. So what’s it gonna be?” Jesse said as he released Sis's mane, not bothering to look at Hanzo.  
The archer spluttered, his anger suddenly drained out of him. He now felt in the wrong for grossly losing his temper, especially when the target of his anger had saved the day. “What would this 'somewhere safe' be exactly?” He inquired quietly, cautiously trying to meet the cowboy's eyes.

McCree checked the saddle thoroughly, then he turned to face Hanzo and stared back at him intensely. “There's a safe house ‘round these parts. It's a bit small an' derelict t' be honest, but a hell lot more comfortable than rottin' in a prison cell or sleepin' outside. But,” the cowboy raised a hand and pointed at Hanzo, the same way he had been doing aggressively earlier, “it's only for the night though. By tomorrow mornin', I want ya outta my sight. Don't give a shit 'bout what happens to ya afterward, I'll go my way an' you’ll go yers. Got it?”

Another tensed silence settled, Hanzo scrunching his eyebrows at McCree.  
He still knew nothing about this cursed place, he certainly would not make much progress without any mean of transportation, and being alone would leave him excessively at risk should he find himself in another ambush.

However, preferring not to add more nails to his coffin, the archer silently nodded.  
Jesse McCree was only a product of his mind, he should never have got attached. And a frustrating cowboy on top of that; Hanzo had not interacted so intensely with anyone, or being this angry at someone other than himself in a long time.

Deep down though, McCree's not wanting to have anything to do with Hanzo caused a sour ripple in his chest. These dreams, and this cowboy, had majorly affected him in a matter of days. In hindsight, they had given him a second breath after years of empty, nearly meaningless living.

But in the end, the deterioration of this strange relationship was not such a surprise. There was not a shred of diplomacy, empathy or any sort of sociability left in him, only bitterness that constantly drove freshly-met people away.  
What was astonishing was the cowboy's self-control. If Hanzo had been in his boots, he would have most likely murdered the fool.

“By the way I didn't wanna point that out, but I dunno if ya noticed or not.” McCree suddenly said, now sitting on the saddle and staring down at Hanzo. The archer reluctantly looked up, preparing himself for another chiding.  
“Yer tit's showin', an' it's kinda hard not to watch. I know ya don't wanna put up a show, ya stated it firmly back there. But I'm jus' a simple man an' ya're really flashin' yerself to me right now.” And with these words, the cowboy averted his eyes to Hanzo's chest.  
Then he looked back up, smirked seductively and _winked_.

The archer's face went tomato-red and he hurriedly covered himself with the other half of his Gi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not hesitate warning me if I have made mistakes. I've triple-read this chapter, but my focus has been pretty much all over the place. Thank you kindly~


	13. Little Shack on the Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has absolutely nothing to do with Little House on the Prairie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!  
> Again thank you SO MUCH for your kudos and comments, it's a pleasure to see you guys enjoy my weird little story and it keeps me motivated ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑)٩
> 
> Now I have not made a cover art ;~; basically ran out of time and had to rush the writing of this chapter instead. BUT!  
> I made [these doods to make up for the wait](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/160584557021/the-next-chapter-for-lucid-dream-is-still-ongoing) AND [these to make up for the lack of cover art](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/160669926456/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-hey)!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter ;3;

They wandered on horseback through a slot canyon for quite some time. While McCree smoked, whistled and sometimes went as far as humming, Hanzo remained as silent as the grave.

Regret for his outburst came in waves, each one stronger than the last. He had considered apologizing several times for the past hour, but pride and dejection muzzled him; apologizing meant admitting openly he had been in the wrong, when McCree was the primal cause of his anger.  
However, no matter from which angle he looked at the situation, the cowboy still had saved them with his incredible stunt.

Since Hanzo could not bring himself to speak and found that staring at McCree's neck did not help with the guilt, he took in the breathtaking scenery.  
The walls boarding the tortuous path were high and strangely shaped, so much so that one could barely see the sky when looking up. The only source of light were the beams of sunlight pouring down onto the sandstone, bathing the entire slot with an orange glow and keeping the place from being a claustrophobic space.

Hanzo had never visited a place like this before; now that he was not being dragged along against his will or chased down by a mob of blood-thirsty cowboys, he could take the time to sit back and be marveled.

What intrigued him the most was that this incredible place seemed depicted with a certain accuracy. Perhaps he had seen some pictures here and there, which his unconscious self had memorized and now showed up in remarkable detail? He could not be certain, for he genuinely felt like he was discovering a whole new world.  
Then again, he had never met someone like Jesse McCree. And somehow the cowboy had been there since the first day in all his perplexing and frustrating personality.

A loud cry suddenly came from above, breaking the deafening silence and startling Hanzo. The sound was inhuman and bone-chillingly shrill.

Falling back on instinct, the archer aimed his bow toward the opening, arrow drawn and ready to take out whatever was the source of that noise.  
All he saw were several large birds, some flying in circles and others perched on the edge of the canyon. The majority of their bodies was covered with dark feathers from the neck down, the heads entirely naked and pinkish red.  
He hesitated; were these predators or harmless observers? Maybe it was better not to wait and find out. He certainly did not like the appearance of these birds one bit, especially their large beaks. They looked like they could easily peck through McCree’s chest armor.

Before he could release the arrow, a gloved hand closed around his wrist. McCree had hardly reacted before, merely throwing a glance up before gazing back at the road. But when he had heard the string of the bow being pulled, he had moved faster than a snake. “Chill pardner, ain't nothin' but good ol' vultures.” He spoke softly, as if talking to a scared animal.  
Hanzo froze, disarmed by the stare; it was the first eye contact they had since they got back on the horse. The lighting made the cowboy's irises look like ambers.  
Despite the glove covering his wrist, the contact felt as if his skin was bare beneath the cowboy's fingers. His entire arm was covering in goose bumps.

“Do not lay your hands on me.” The archer retorted, tearing his hand from McCree's grip and lowering the bow. “Do these not feed on flesh? _Human_ flesh?”  
“Jus' wanted to keep ya from killin' innocent creatures sugarplum.” The cowboy mumbled, focusing back on the road. “An’ they feed on dead flesh only, regardless o’ the type. They won't try to harm us while we're still breathin'.” He paused to tap the ashes of his cigar onto the side. “But if we did drop dead, ya can count on ‘em to get their asses down ‘ere an’ have a feast.”

The archer threw another look at the pack of vultures, which seemed to leer back at him in return. He was most likely imagining things, but he could not help but wonder if they felt his unease.  
“Charming, really. I am quite reassured.” He scoffed, reluctantly putting the arrow back with the others. “As if we needed actual birds of ill omen hovering over our heads.  
\- Hey don't patronize 'em yeah?” McCree suddenly spat, turning again to face Hanzo. “I can't stand the people who use ‘em as target practicin' an' curse at ‘em. Ya don't shoot the undertaker when they show up with a coffin, do ya?”  
He was fuming, figuratively and literally as he exhaled cigar smoke at Hanzo's face. “When people an' animals die here, willingly or not, these birdies are the only ones who' ll bother to clean up the mess. Can ya imagine the mess a dead cow leaves behind? An’ the smell?”

The archer, quite put-off by the sudden rant, could only acquiesce while waving the smoke away. “I really would rather not, but I suppose it would cause quite a waste.  
\- Well human corpses leave a mess o' their own behind, except when these guys are nearby. If anything, they deserve our thanks for keepin’ this place clean. Plus they don't judge an' they'll keep us company till the very end. Might as well get somethin' back in return, it's only fair.  
\- … That is a morbid point of view, but I can see what you mean and agree. It does makes sense when you put it like that.” Hanzo nodded, although partially convinced; he still saw the birds as harbingers of death, and did not feel comfortable having a flock of flying scavengers following them around.

Such an intriguing cowboy though, this Jesse McCree. There was definitely more to him than just a bumbling fool with a gun and some kind of decency-  
“Hey, hold on a minute Shimada.” The cowboy paused thoughtfully, frowning.  
Hanzo immediately tensed, wondering what did he say to attract the fool’s wrath this time.

Instead of ire, McCree gave him a grin so toothy the archer spotted a golden dental filling covering one of his premolars. “Was that-was that an actual compliment ya jus’ made? Damn sweetheart, I’m so touched!” He then started fanning himself with his hands, deliberately exaggerating the motion. “Careful though mister, ya might jus' woo my poor li'l heart with these kind words!”

The archer discreetly pinched the bridge of his nose and profoundly sighed, while McCree looked back at the road with a barely muffled snicker.

–

The natural corridor progressively grew wider and he walls gained in vegetation as they progressed. Hanzo could spot colorful lizards lurking beneath the foliage and snakes napping inside the cracks and nooks. Some raised their heads on their passage and hissed, a warning they would strike if they got any closer.  
Worried that the reptiles may be poisonous, the archer retained his arms against his body and kept an eye out for anything slithering on the ground. Their ankles were safe, but not Sis's ones.

Finally they reached the end of the slot, where a soft slope led down to a dry little valley. The sun was slowly ascending below the horizon, coloring the few cirrus clouds drifting along the sky. The rocky mountains casted impressive shadows, plunging most of the piece of land into dark.

Proudly standing in the middle of the little valley, bathing in the last sun rays and surrounded by few bushes and short grass, was McCree's hideout.

'Safe house' was a title way too honorific for what could be best described as an abandoned farm; leftovers of a fence were scattered on the ground, the walls looked like they would collapse at a mere gust of wind, and a portion of the roof was missing.  
Beside a sturdy well built next to the front porch, nothing about this house seemed safe. And the fact all its windows were boarded up only added to the feeling.

Hanzo shuddered, from both the cold and the sight of the shanty. _This_ was what was supposed to keep them safe for the night?  
The sun had not completely disappeared yet and already the temperature had dropped several degrees down. How were they supposed to stay warm when there was a hole in the roof?

“Home sweet home.” The cowboy muttered, jumping down the saddle and stretching his back. The archer stayed still at first, unsettled and reluctant. The last thing he wanted was to set a toe in this rickety shack.  
But where else could he possibly go?  
He knew better than wandering off in the unknown wildness in near darkness, and his clothes would certainly not protect him from the cold all throughout the night. Even though the day had been hot, the lack of clouds and the strong wind blowing across the valley guaranteed a chilling evening.

Unable to come up with a better plan, Hanzo awkwardly stepped down the horse and followed McCree. With the rough escapade and the long trip afterward, his usually agile body had the stiffness of a scarecrow.  
“Sorry 'bout the mess, haven’t been in here for a while an’ didn't expect to bring any guests.” The cowboy said as he held the front door open.  
The house consisted in one single room with few pieces of furniture; a dining table, about four chairs, a bed and a stove. All of it, along with the floorboard, was covered in dust.  
As if the place itself wanted to seem even less welcoming than it already was, a gust of wind coming from the inside hit them in the face.  
“It shows.” Hanzo muttered, not even wondering if he should take his jika-tabi off or not; the sole of the shoes probably had less dirt on them than the floorboard. Still he took the time to scrub his feet on the remains of the doormat, too considerate to bring more sand inside his host’s hideout.

The squall swept through the room, until McCree finally shut the front door. As soon as the air stilled, Hanzo could smell a musty scent lingering around, peppered with an odor of tobacco. The cowboy had probably not come here in a long time, or he was a terrible housekeeper who forgot to air every once in a while. One did not necessarily exclude the other.

The cleanest corner and only mean to properly sit down in the entire house appeared to be the unmade bed covered with a pile of thick blankets. All the chairs were either broken or missing a leg, and the cowboy's things were scattered all over the dining table.  
Torn by the painful muscle cramps in his thighs, Hanzo headed straight toward the bed. He would have preferred to bathe first after such a day, but the likelihood of obtaining one in this shack was below null.

He froze on the spot however, reeling back at the state of the bed. It had been hard to tell in the obscurity, but the blankets and sheets were just as dirty as the floor; they were covered in dust, sand and something dark, most likely coal dust from the stove.  
While Hanzo could refrain from being too obsessive about hygiene under duress, there was simply not a chance he would either sit or lie down in this _piggery_.

Without a word to McCree, the archer pulled the entirety of the bedding off the mattress and rushed outside, causing the wind to swirl back inside the moment he opened the door.

He spent several minutes shaking every single sheet and blanket as hard as he could. When facing resilient dust, he even went as far as taking the back of a broken chair to beat it off. The smacking of the wood against the fabric resonated in the entire valley, but he supposed that would dissuade any coyote or whatever lurked out there from approaching.  
Every time he deemed a blanket to be clean enough, he came back inside the house and dropped his bundle on the bed, before promptly returning outside to take care of the others.

McCree did nothing to stop him, at first silently watching him come and go. Then, at Hanzo's fourth passage, he found the cowboy crouching by the stove and working on starting a fire. It was about time he did so; the light was rapidly diminishing, and the gust blowing through the hole in the roof was making the already fresh temperature inside the shack drop.  
When the archer came back with the last blanket and slammed the door shut, a small fire was enlightening the room and McCree was rummaging through the mess on the dining table, tidying up what he could.

After minutely making the bed, Hanzo sat down on it with a satisfied sigh, remotely appeased. The place was a lot cleaner now, the gust of wind having carried out most of the sheep dust and sand during his frantic spring cleanup.  
The tension had almost entirely left his body, with the exception of his aching legs. He rested his bow and quiver aside, then lied down and slowly massaged his thighs to sooth the cramps away.  
McCree stopped to look at him, arms full of old posters and empty bottles. He opened his mouth briefly, but remained mute. After a brief hesitation, he simply shook his head and went outside to discard his trash.

Once the pain subdued to a bearable level, Hanzo grabbed the quiver to check how many arrows he had left. He had fired continuously during the pursuit and, while too busy to count exactly how many he had used, he found quite odd that he had not run out yet.

Checking the quiver brought up two disconcerting facts.  
Firstly, the quiver was still full; it contained just as many arrows as it did before their evasion.  
Secondly, there was a strange object hidden among the arrows.

Hanzo carefully pulled it out; the artifact was a bamboo cylinder covered with metal, barely thicker than his thumb. Its length was such that the archer would not have caught it by accident when reaching for the fletched tips of the arrows stacked around.  
It was coincidentally dimensioned to be concealed inside his quiver.

Intrigued, the archer rested his quiver and examined the cylinder.  
Like the chest found in his prison cell, it was decorated in a fashion that gave away its belonging to the Shimada estate; a dragon was warped all around the cylinder, its scales made with mother-of-pearl plaques and laced with gold. Cherry blossoms surrounded the creature, the flowers in rose quartz and silver.  
Hanzo could not recall having owned anything like this, or even seen such an item in the treasures of the Shimada estate. It seemed a lot more ancient than the safe, which already had gone through several generations.  
Nevertheless the artifact had been done with genuine handicraft, and it was remarkably beautiful.

With a roaring curiosity, he searched for a clue of its utility and discovered that the cylinder was made of two parts. He uncoupled them and found a scroll of parchment sitting inside, preserved in perfect condition by the hollow tube.

Upon unrolling the parchment, the archer could already tell it was some kind of map. Sinuous paths and regions had been impeccably traced in black ink, most likely with a brush.  
Among the black lines, a red one caught his eye; it looked like some kind of course plotted on the map, starting from the left and running all across the regions of the map to end right on-  
“What's that ya're holdin' honey?”

Hanzo jolted, nearly ripping the parchment in two. He had not noticed McCree coming back and approaching until the cowboy suddenly dropped on the bed by his side. For a man that wore an overly large belt and spurs, he had been startlingly discreet.  
Rather than showing he was startled, the archer showed McCree the parchment and the empty cylinder. “It is a map of some kind I believe. I discovered it just now, it was stashed inside this container and hidden among my arrows.”  
McCree leaned closer to get a good look at the items, his prosthetic limb brushing Hanzo's arm. Goose bumps appeared on his skin, but he dismissed it on the metal being cold.

“Ya keep findin' strange things in random places sugar.” McCree smirked, eyes darting over the cylinder with envy. “Pretty strange an' expensive-lookin' things. Suits ya though.”   
Before the archer could dryly retort, the cowboy turned his attention to the map and almost immediately frowned over it. “Now hold on a minute.” He muttered, before his face suddenly enlightened. “I know what that map is. It’s the entire land in a nutshell!”

This time Hanzo did not bother to hide his surprise. “Are you certain?  
\- Darlin', I ain’t jus’ certain, I’m positive.” McCree scoffed, mockingly tilting his hat. He then reached out and pointed at a vast shape on the upper left corner. “This big thing right where the red line starts, that's the desert.” He followed the line until a round spot, in which there was a miniature town drawn. “An' that little thing pokin' out at its border, that's Lil' Bones' Creek. These spots ‘round the desert are the other towns, like Nine-toes Daisy or Dry Pass City. We ain't gonna visit ‘em ever though, our faces must be plastered all over the walls…”  
His voice drifted off as he inspected the different places pictured on the parchment.  
“Uh. Ain't that weird.” He muttered lowly, frowning. “There are a few spots I actually dunno about. I'm pretty sure I explored everythin' that can be accessed, did I miss somethin'?  
\- Whether you missed something or not does not matter.” Hanzo cut, studying the map with renewed attention. He even brought it at the light of the stove, in case the piece of parchment held more than met the eye.

He had written enough mystery novels and thrillers to suspect the use of invisible ink or multiple layers within the fabric.  
However the transparency revealed nothing other than what he could already see, and the heat of the fire did not make anything appear. A more meticulous examination, with his eyes and finger pads for only means, showed no subtle creases or light impressions.  
The parchment had absolutely nothing more to reveal.  
Or it actually required something much more sophisticated, like a UV lamp or a scanner, and Hanzo dearly hoped it was not the case.

McCree, who had been cleaning Peacekeeper while the writer was absorbed in his scrutiny, got finally too curious to hold himself back. “Found anythin' queer on yer paper?  
\- No, nothing other than what is already on it. The locations along the traced path, you mentioned being familiar with them?  
\- Well the most I've explored.” The cowboy admitted, making the barrel of the gun spin. Satisfied with the sound it made, he shoved the firearm back in its holster.

“Like I said, some o’ these I ain't familiar with. I’ve explored this entire land back an’ forth, been round these parts long enough to know what I'm talkin' about an’ let me tell ya, that map’s weird.”  
He pointed at what seemed to be some kind of forest followed by a long and sinuous river in the middle of the map. A stylish dragon had been drawn along the course of the river, probably for decoration.  
“In this area, all I’ve seen is nothin’ but dry-ass dead land an’ foggy mountains with edges as sharp as a razor, stretchin' beyond the horizon. I've never managed to find a way through, too rough an' risky. It's like the land's cut in two… An' yet whoever made that map seemed to think there’s some sort of forest, with a river an’ more. Heck I don't even know what's the rest of the course goin' through an' where that goal’s supposed to be.” He traced along the itinerary and pointed at its end, marked with a 'X'. “Could be anythin’.”

Hanzo looked up at the cowboy. “Whatever awaits at the end of this road, it must be precious if someone bothered to make a map leading to it.” He slowly said as a thought germinated in his mind. “A treasure of some kind perhaps. Or a place of importance, such as a hidden city or a tomb.  
\- Possibly with lotsa treasures.” McCree added, getting on the same page or, to be more precise, the prospect of hidden wealth.

The archer lowered his gaze on the map. He wished there was some indication as to what the goal could be, but he was quite excited at the idea of a treasure hunt. Even if the only guide he could hope to get was an obnoxious, dubiously competent cowboy that hated his guts and would probably not want to deal with him any longer.

Unless he asked very, very nicely.

“I have not a clue as to how and why this map ended up in a quiver under the floor of my cell, or what it even leads to, but by all means… Would you care to go on a journey to find it? I promise I will equally share our findings with you.” Hanzo carefully asked, looking back up at McCree's hazel eyes.  
The cowboy had the audacity to look surprised. “Ya sure you want me in? Based on what ya said earlier, ya basically can't stand me, an' I basically told ya to fuck off twice.  
\- Yes, I remember that. But that was the least I deserved for my repeated outbursts.” Hanzo conceded awkwardly. It was difficult to affirm so when he had meant every single word he had thrown at the cowboy's face, but he had to admit he had been quite harsh from the very beginning.

Not to mention the gesture McCree did before they ran out of town. How could he have forgotten? “I never thanked you for coming back for me.” He hurriedly added in realization. As the cowboy seemed confused again, he explained himself.  
“After you found your horse, I ran away because of… Because of something I thought I saw. You could have left me behind and live your life, and yet you risked your freedom to find me and get us both out of town. I deeply apologize for my lateness, I meant to do this earlier but there was no time… So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you Jesse McCree.” He rested the map and cylinder on his knees, then bowed to the cowboy.

McCree did a double-take, which made Hanzo wonder just how rude he must have come off as when his words spurred such a reaction. The emotion quickly dissipated from the cowboy's face, a soft smile stretching the chapped lips. “It's all water under the bridge pardner. 'M sorry too, shoulda warned ya 'bout the stunt I had in mind. An' to be fair, we had a really rough start.  
\- Partner? Does this mean you accept my offer?  
\- I'd be a darn fool if I passed the opportunity jus’ cause ya got a temper!” McCree laughed, throwing his arm over Hanzo's shoulders. “Sure we'll probably get on each other's nerves every now an' then, but I think I could get over it with such a pretty face an' a potential treasure at the end of our journey. So let's do it over.” He poked the archer's cheekbone, wiggling his eyebrows in jest. “I'm Jesse McCree, best gunslinger of the West, outlaw an' yer guide I guess. An' if ya ask me, you an' I darlin', are up for some grand trip.”

Hanzo made no effort to hide his distain at the aggravated invasion of his personal space, but he did nothing to push McCree away. He could hardly believe that the man would accept his offer after such a rough start, he was not going to break his finger for slightly touching him… Yet.  
“Shimada Hanzo, archer. I can assure you, your opinion is the last I would wish to hear on the grandness of our collaboration.” He snickered, subtly shoving his elbow against the cowboy's ribs. “What do you suggest we do now that we have sealed the deal?”

McCree removed his arm in order to stretch both toward the ceiling, groaning shamelessly. He probably had not felt anything with the chest armor. “Well I dunno ‘bout ya, but all that action drained me an' I didn't get all that much rest in jail. I'm knackered an' I could use some sleep!  
\- All that singing sure must have taken a toll on you.” Hanzo suppressed a yawn, feeling quite weary. When was the last time he had undergone so much action in one day?  
The day he had fled Hanamura with Genji had been undeniably epic in scope, and there had been tumultuous times before when the clan had sent him out on the field.  
And years after peace, the accident-

Hanzo hurriedly snapped out of it before he went further down that dangerous path. He rolled up the map into a tight scroll and put it back in the cylinder, which was then shoved back inside the quiver.  
There was just one issue the archer needed to address before they rested, and it was urgent he did so now that McCree was in a good mood.  
“There is only one bed though.” He awkwardly announced.

The cowboy tilted the brim of his hat up and threw at Hanzo a disarming smile. “Now now darlin'. There's plenty 'nough room for the two of us on it. We might be a bit crammed, but it'll be fine if we cuddle up jus' a li'l bit. I'm a very comfortable guy.”

Hanzo's glare was quite eloquent on his utter disapproval. Should stares have been deadly proportionally as their intensity increased, his would have turned the cowboy into a little pile of steaming ashes.  
While it did not kill McCree, it sure made his smile melt away into a sour expression. “Fine, ya can have the bed.” He sighed grumpily. “I'll take the floor… But only if ya let me pick the best blankets. 'S cold enough as it is, an' I ain't gonna let my buns freeze for the sake o’ yers, no matter how nice they probably are.”

–

“… And thus we formed a partnership on the spot, even though we had fought about an hour ago and nearly did again over something as trivial as bed arrangements.

We both do not have the faintest clue about what or where this map leads to, not to mention what obstacles and dangers await for us. I cannot help but have my doubts on this plan; I still know little to nothing of this world, and McCree's acknowledging he might not have seen all of it only adds to my uncertainty.  
I shall press him for more information on the regions he explored. It would be most unreasonable to go on this journey fully blind.

Despite my many concerns, I must admit that I am very excited about this turn of events. A journey through unusual dreams in the search of a treasure sounds like a perfect opportunity to reset my creativity. Our adventure has not even begun and already I have written many pages of the cowboy's antics and our 'rough start'.  
Who knows what this trip might unleash… Hopefully no more nightmares. I have not had one ever since I started using medication, and I do strongly hope to keep it that way.”

Hanzo took a little break from the keyboard, flexing his fingers and rotating his wrists.  
After just waking up, he had grabbed his computer and immediately proceeded in typing the account of his dream. Shower and breakfast could wait; he had to input every single detail, from their narrow escape to their agreement.

Even the cowboy's ridiculous pet names were carefully noted down, each one bringing a frown on Hanzo's face. What kind of man would look at him and decide these names somehow fit him?  
Probably one not in his right mind, or very brave, or with a death wish.  
In Jesse McCree's case, he would probably say 'all of the above'.

Once he was done writing, he saved the document and sent it to himself through his email box; it was his method to keep a backup copy of the file, should his old laptop give up the ghost after many years of faithful service.  
It was also an excuse to check if he had any new messages, not counting the junk emails accumulating in the spam folder. Beside his coworkers sending him articles or motivational kitten pictures (Hana's curtesy), he rarely received anything worthy of his attention.

Much to his surprise, he had one unread message, dated from yesterday night and sent by someone unknown to his contact list. There was no decipherable name in the address, only a complicated mess of letters and numbers.  
The writer was perplexed; could this be a gross attempt to hack his account?  
There was no enclosed file to the message, only text. But for the sake of prudence, he still moved the email into the spam folder to view it in a secured way.

The message was rife with spelling errors, some words misspelled to the point Hanzo had to read certain parts out-loud to make sense of them:

“ _Dear mister Shimada,_

_I've recently discovered your books and must say I fell under the spell quit fast. 'Murder by Spring' had me so enthralled, I read it all in one shot and am planning on reading it again to get all the details and subtleties._

_Anyway, the reason I'm sending you this message is because I was searching for more of your works and found out you hadn't written any novel in years. I know writers sometimes hit a dry spell or something like that, but four years seems like a really long time and that got me kind of worried about you._

_I don't mean to intrude, and I wouldn't hold it against you if you deleted this lines ago.  
I just wanted you to know that peeps still read your stuff and look forward to see you write again._

_Best regards,  
A fan_

_PS: So sorry for all the mistakes, I try real hard but I'm sure there must be a ton nonetheless and I hope you've managed to read on till here. You would probably recommend using auto-correct, but it feels cheap. As for beta-reading, well it is out of the question cause this message is private and for your eyes only.  
Which I hope do not hurt from reading this entire thing. Again I'm terribly sorry._

_Yours truly,  
An apologetic fan_”

Hanzo stared at the screen in utter disbelief.  
Never mind the incredible amount of mistakes, he could overlook that. What really bewildered him was the simple fact that he had received fan mail  
Moreover from a weird address, on his private account.

The fan mails usually were usually filled on the Overwatch website, so they could reach the writers and artists who preferred keeping their contact information secret, like he did. These messages were then filtered and distributed by the IT service, namely Winston and a very private person Hanzo had never met face-to-face and only knew as 'Athena'.

Following the accident, he had quickly stopped requesting his fan mail. The event had left him unable to deal with the overwhelming amount of messages, which were either wishes of prompt recovery flowing with support, questions on what had happened exactly or straight up demands that he pulled himself together and continued writing.  
It had only added to the pressure on his back and got so unbearable he reached the breaking point. After a narrowly-dodged burnout, he had completely cut himself off from his fans.

And now, years of isolation later, he apparently still had fans. And one of them had managed to reach out in a very unusual way.  
How one person got ahold of his private address was simply perplexing; Hanzo had always been careful not to give his contacts away to avoid his mail account and phone getting flooded.   
Perhaps one of his friends was doing someone a favor? Maybe, but he could not fathom any of them doing such a reckless thing, and even less without asking him first.

Having no way of finding out at the moment, he dismissed the thought. There was no use pondering on it by himself.  
However he was still left with a message from 'an apologetic fan'.  
Judging from the self-deprecating tone, the sender did not expect any reply at all. So that gave Hanzo all the time in the world to think about an answer, should he ever decide to eventually send one back.

Not that he had no respect for this person, whoever they were. In spite of the atrocious spelling, he was genuinely touched by this message.  
Years of that, freshly after the accident, he would have deleted the message without a second thought, blocked the sender and proceeded into a panic attack worrying about how many more people were going to reach out for him.

Perhaps taking such a long break from his fan mail had made him more receptive to the concern of a complete stranger.

In the end, Hanzo decided he would give this person a reply once he would have the words to do so. Putting the message back in his inbox, he flagged it so it would stay highlighted and on top of the list. Then he closed his computer and left the futon, starting to feel too hungry to keep postponing breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally written the mail with actual misspells and such with the help of a great friend of mine  
> But it physically hurt me to post it that way, so I fixed it all ʕ≖ᴥ≖;ʔ


	14. First step of a Thousand miles Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminiscence : the chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!  
> 300 kudos? I can't believe it ʕ❀,,/)ᴥ(\ʔ thank you so much for everything, everybody!
> 
> Here's a long chapter in exchange, hope y'all enjoy it ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ
> 
> [And here are the doodles to accompany this chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/160920629436/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-new-chapter)  
> I decided to do cover arts when I do have an idea for one, and otherwise post doods based on the previous chapters and/or the new chapter :3

During the entire day, even though he had done absolutely everything he could think of to keep his mind busy, Hanzo remained preoccupied by the fan mail.

He had rinsed the few dirty dishes soaking in the kitchen sink since yesterday morning, aired his futon and changed his sheets, gone down to the dark basement of the residence to do his laundry and even swept the entire flat while waiting for the end of the washing cycle.  
Clearly the state of the shack had left some kind of trauma on his mind, because he certainly had not been that motivated to clean yesterday; he usually did way later in the week when his socks caught clumps of dust sheep.

And yet after all of this, including a long session of clandestine Kyūdō on the rooftop, his thoughts were still brought to that one message sitting in his inbox.  
It was not that important; it was just one mail from an unknown sender, not an unpaid bill. Why did it mobilize so much attention that he could not even summon the minimum focus needed to choose a topic for his poem?

Eventually he snapped and grabbed his abandoned laptop, connecting to his account and opening the subject of his concern. If he wanted his mind to properly function for the rest of the week, he had to deal with it right now.

It took a hesitant start and a lot of backspacing, but he managed to type a relatively satisfying answer to the mail:  
“ _Dear Sir or Madam,_

 _I am pleased to know you have enjoyed my work. Should you be interested, I recommend you read ‘ Steel beneath Silk’ and ‘Bloodstained Chrysanthemums’ at Overwatch Editions. They all belong to the series “Fifteen years of mutual hatred” from which ‘Murder by Spring’ is the first chapter.  
I would also like to thank you for your concern. I apologize_”

That part had been the most difficult to write, considering this person's worries were not completely inappropriate. Hanzo was far from being fine.  
There were improvements, mainly two major ones brought by the sleeping pills; they helped him incrementally pay off the accumulated sleep debt, and somehow brought him the lucid dreams since the first night. That last one he still not had found any scientific explanation for, and he seriously doubted he would find ever one.  
But his situation was still no less than tough, and he had only so little hope of getting better.

“ _I apologize for making you and my other dedicated fans wait, and assure you I aim to write again. When exactly is a question I cannot yet answer, but I hope in the near future._  
On a side note, I would strongly appreciate if you refrained from sharing this address to anyone, regardless of the way you managed to obtain it in the first place. This is a private account and I would very much like to keep it that way. Thank you for your understanding.  
Best regards,  
H. S.”

On second thought, he also added a post-scriptum. There was no need to criticize the poor orthography when the sender was already beating themselves up over it, but offering an advice could not be inappropriate:  
“ _PS: Your determination regarding your spelling is admirable, and I do hope you will manage to reach your goal. If I may make a suggestion, do activate the orthography checker with the auto-corrections disabled. It will just highlight the misspells and mistakes, leaving you the task of correcting yourself and learning from your mistakes._  
Best regards,  
H. S.”

There. Perfectly neutral and to the point. There was a small risk he might come off as detached or cold, but he had to make himself clear.  
That did not stop him from triple-checking his reply before sending it.

Hanzo was a little surprised this fan had discovered him through this series. He remembered it well, 'Murder by Spring' being the third book he wrote after 'The Dragon who wanted to be a Sparrow' and his first best-seller.  
The book and its two sequels had been surprisingly well-received, considering how intriguing people found Japanese culture and the importance given to traditions and duties. Through this series, he had depicted how it ruled over the lives of many, based on an invented couple that was basically his parents in disguised.  
The idea had occurred to him while honoring his mother on her death anniversary, and he had started writing it shortly after his father's. The Shimada-gumi had just been eradicated thanks to all the intel Genji and him had given away in order to obtain a witness-protection program. And without the threat of the clan on their back, the two brothers had changed their civil records to obtain their real names back, neither one of them wanting to keep hiding behind a smoke screen.  
He was still not sure what exactly had spurred him to write a novel on such a personal subject. His own life had been bound to his duties toward his family and the clan from birth, and the power it took to renounce on all of it for the sake of his little brother’s life had been colossal.  
Why dwell on it?  
Back then, probably because of a vicious homesickness and remorse for his actions, which he wished he had never felt.

On a whim, Hanzo closed his account and opened the browser. He remembered having appeared on a talk show for an interview about ‘Fifteen years of mutual hatred’. Perhaps it was still on the net  
Openly discussing something this personal in front of a crowd had been quite a challenge, and Jack Morrison had offered to accompany him on the set. In the end, he had gone alone and actually managed to appear composed.  
It was indeed still on the net; scanning through the results, he saw himself in the thumbnail of a video. Younger and long-haired, with short sideburns and only the beginning of a beard on his chin, formally dressed with an elegant suit he no longer had.  
His hand hesitated over the tactile pad, but he ended up clicking on the video.

The hostess, a redhead woman sitting behind a desk, waved at the camera and started her announcement. “Our special guest for the night is a bit of an oddity among our writers. You may now him for various titles such as 'Origami-shaped bird', 'The unrooted berry' or more recently the best-seller of the year triptych 'Fifteen years of mutual hatred'. Ladies and Gentlemen welcome the man behind the pen name, Henry Sasaki as known as Hanzo Shimada!”

He had been putting up on a cold, confident front when stepping onto that stage, refusing to show how intimidated he was to face the live audience. After displaying so much caution to stay hidden from the clan, being so suddenly in the open was daunting.  
But then he had spotted Genji in the crowd with his freshly-dyed hair, sitting in the front rows and grinning proudly. That had made him crack a nervous smile and give a small nod at the crowd.

The hostess had warmly welcomed him like an old friend; they had rehearsed this interview at least three times before the final recording, so they could afford to seem casual. Hanzo had not been peculiarly fond of that woman, but had accepted to act a little friendly out of curtesy.

“Mister Shimada, thank you for being among us tonight. You are quite a very busy man!  
\- Thank you for having me here Julia.  
\- Before we start, which name do you prefer? Your pen name or your actual name? Because we have known you as Henry Sasaki since your very first book.  
\- I have taken my given name back since last week. My pen name was only going to be temporary and, let us be honest, we can all agree that I do not look like a Henry.”  
The audience chuckled, while the hostess shook her head with a smile. “It does not have the same ring as Hanzo indeed. Now, you first book, the one you wrote with your brother, has been re-edited for the occasion I believe?  
\- Yes, with our actual names on the cover. We will not ask the same for all of our other previous works, it was just for this one. It holds a special meaning to us both.  
\- Is your brother here tonight?  
\- Yes he is, right there. You cannot miss him, he's the only radish among us.”

There was a quick cut on Genji, the camera zooming in as he waved at the cheering audience.  
Grief clenched Hanzo's heart as he watched his little brother grin, face still intact and lively. He wanted to tear his eyes away so the pain would stop, but found himself unable to.  
It cut back to the hostess and him, looking at ease yet still sitting rigidly in the comfortable chair. Still on guard.

“Now, upon release, your book 'Murder by Spring' caused quite a row among the crowd. And its sequels were met with just as much enthusiasm. How did you feel about it?  
\- Considering the topic of these books, I honestly did not think it would be that popular. I wrote the first as a mean of catharsis, it was not meant to be a hit.  
\- News outlets have described your series as “the work of a modern Jane Austen”. What is your thought on that review?  
\- Well she wrote about the dependence of British women on marriage, in the pursuit of favorable social standing and economic security at the end of 18th century. I wrote about a man and a woman both from different, renown Yakuza groups in Japan, agreeing to marry despite their profound hatred toward one another in order to unite their clans in the 21th century. I can see the grounds for that comparison.” He added in satiric jest. It earned another wave of chuckles.

“What couple is this based on? Some stipulated from the first novel that it might be you.  
\- They were wrong, for I am not married. I have never been married.” Someone wolf-whistled in the audience, probably Genji, but he carried on undisturbed. “The couple on which the books are centered is closely based on my parents.  
\- Wow, really? So this one scene, spoiler alert everybody, where she clearly states her disapproval while pressing a knife to his throat-  
\- My father's first proposal went a little differently. It was an arrow in my mother's hand, not a knife.” The crowd went insane with laughter while Hanzo slightly frowned. He remembered wondering whether these people believed him or thought he was joking.

“Did things work out for them eventually? Else it must have been rough living in that atmosphere.  
\- I was born and raised into that environment. It did not seem unnatural to me, it was actually the normality. My parents could not have hated each other more than before their wedding, and I am almost certain they had planned on assassinating one another on the day of the ceremony.  
\- That never happened though? Well clearly it never did or else you would not be here blessing us with your presence.  
\- Clearly. After that standoff, my father changed his views and started respecting my mother for her strength and braveness. When he expressed his wish of having her not only as wife but also as second-in-command, which directly involved her in the leadership of the clan, she saw him under a different eye. They never fell in love, but they definitely reached a certain level of understanding and complicity.  
\- Considering what you thought an average relationship to be back then, how do you define that ‘complicity’?  
\- I define it as in ruling over the clan with an iron hand, and fending off the assassins that showed up on our doorsteps.  
\- Assassins? So that one scene I won't describe for the viewers who have not yet read whichever book features it, that actually happened?  
\- Yes it did. It might seem as a surprise to you, but being at the head of a Yakuza clan can be a dangerous life.”  
On that final note, the video ended.

Staring at the screen, Hanzo wondered how his younger self would have reacted, had he been told that he would lose everything he had a few years later on, by his own fault.

–

When Hanzo woke up to a distant bird screech and a wooden roof above his head, he felt understandably disoriented. After an entire week trapped in a cell with second most boring ceiling in the world (the first being the bland one of his flat), the old beams did offer variety.

The archer slowly sat up and pushed the patchwork blanket off, wincing when fresh air hit his body. The fire in the stove must have been extinguished in the middle of the night, for the room was now a little cold.  
To fight the shivers, Hanzo methodically stretched his back and arms, then he rubbed his skin vigorously to make the goose bumps disappear.

A small grunt coming from somewhere aside startled him. He immediately reached for the bow resting by the pillow, the rusty springs of the beat-up mattress protesting under his weight. He had got a hold of an arrow and was just aiming at the source of the noise, when it hit him that it could only be McCree.

The cowboy was sleeping on the floor, curled on himself in a fetal position and cocooned in a blanket fort. He was faintly snoring, most of his face hidden by the Stetson; brown locks gently moved near his mouth as he exhaled.  
Hanzo forced his muscles to uncoil and shook his head. After yesterday's chase, no one could blame him for being over-vigilant.  
Nevertheless he felt ridiculous for forgetting about their sleeping arrangement.

Energy ran through his veins; with the coolness of this morning and that small fright, he was fully awake and more than ready to start their journey.  
He thought about waking the cowboy up, but a pang of pity made him decide against it. Sleeping in that position, even with the protection of the blankets, must have been pretty uncomfortable. Being a cowboy, McCree had probably slept in worst conditions with less. Still Hanzo was not about to deprive someone of sleep when he had struggled to get the slightest shred of it days ago.

Exiting the bed without making a sound took some time, the treacherous springs of the mattress squeaking and grating at his every moves. The floorboard too creaked beneath his shoes, despite the lightness of his footsteps. It was as if this shack was a dimension where stealth could not exist.  
Any trained assassin or ex-Yakuza would have awakened at this point, but the cowboy did not budge from his cocoon. His snoring had quietened down, but his breathing remained slow and he merely reaffirmed his grip on one of the blankets.

Hanzo shook his head. He had isolated himself for so long, prolonged proximity with other people made him paranoid.  
After checking through the gaps of the boarded windows and ascertaining that the surroundings were clear, the archer snuck out of the house. A new day was slowly dawning over the horizon, a blue haze chasing the night away. High above a falcon was hovering, tracking down its prey; it must have been the source of the screech. As for McCree's horse, it was awake and walking around the water well, grazing the small tufts of grass that had grown by the stones.

Curious, Hanzo walked to the well and took a look inside. It was difficult to see with the little light there was, but dropping a pebble in the pit confirmed the presence of water at its pitch-black bottom.  
While there was no way to get a bath in this valley, washing his face and hair with cold water would be a sufficient consolation.  
Using the simple bucket sitting on the ground and the frayed rope attached to its handle, he drew water from the well. It looked and smelled inconspicuously, so he had no qualms using it.

After thoroughly rinsing his hair and squeezing the moisture out of his locks, Hanzo drew water a second time and left the bucket on the ground for Sis to drink from. The horse cautiously approached at first, obviously wary of him. Then it sniffed the water and, finding nothing wrong with it, started drinking noisily.  
Preferring to let the tall creature quench its thirst in peace, the archer walked back to the porch and took a seat on the least dusty spot he could find.

The light was dim, the sun having yet to appear. But it was just enough for Hanzo to see correctly.  
Although he had thoroughly studied the map the day before, he wanted to take another look at it. A fresher eye might find details overlooked out of exertion.  
There were sadly none on its creator's identity; there was absolutely no writing on the paper, no signature, stamp, or any sign whatsoever beside the decorative dragon. As for the precision with which it had been drawn, it only implied that whoever made it mastered the use of the brush.

While Genji was far more talented than Hanzo at drawing, both brothers had been initiated to the art of writing with brushes and ink. The map was well-executed, but it remained simplistic; Hanzo could have produced something similar if asked.

The archer was tracing over the red course with the tip of his finger, when an old memory long forgotten slowly rose to the surface.  
A treasure hunt.  
The first gift he had offered his little brother on his birthday had been a treasure hunt.

Six of age, he had carefully hidden a pachimari plush and a bedtime story he had written himself inside the Dragon Shrine of the Shimada estate. Then he had planted clues around the entire property and drawn a treasure map leading to these clues.  
At first Genji, just three years old, had been confused and disappointed to find a piece of paper in the gift wrapping. As soon as his big brother had explained what it was, his eyes could not have been brighter.

They had spent the entire day searching for the clues, freely exploring the domain under the amused, watchful eyes of the servants. Their parents had not been around, too busy dealing with the clan. Which had played in their favor in the end, for they would not have appreciated the shrine being used as a playground.  
When Genji had finally discovered the treasure, he had made Hanzo's ears bleed with a squeal and toppled him with a powerful hug, calling him the best big brother in the whole world.  
Simpler, happier times.

Hanzo felt his eyes itch and he slowly wiped the forming tears away. While thinking of his brother hurt, he was glad to have remembered this.  
These memories were precious, no matter the amount of pain they brought along. Things had gone downhill the moment Hanzo had been considered old enough to start his training. As he was to take the reins of the clan after his parents' passing, there had been no room left for anything but training. While his little brother had been left to his own devices, he had been groomed and taught relentlessly.  
It had led to the destruction of his innocence, and the emaciation of his friendship with Genji. Anything prior to that had to preserved, but he remembered so _little_ …

The sound of spurs tingling against the wooden floor tore Hanzo out of his contemplation. He just had the time to hastily dry his eyes before the front door opened.  
“Figured ya'd be out there enjoying the show.” McCree hummed after he stretched his arms with a loud yawn.  
At Hanzo's disconcerted frown, he pointed at the sky.

Finally the sun was emerging from the horizon, the sky now a mixture of blue, yellow, orange and pink. To the archer's bafflement, there were bright spots on both sides of the sun. The meager clouds caught in the halo were turned into fantastic, glowing shapes.  
It left Hanzo speechless, while the cowboy wedged a cigar between his teeth, lit it and took a long drag. “Never saw a sun dog before?”  
Hanzo quietly shook his head, cringing a bit at the smell of nicotine.

“I must confess I got a bit worried at first, seein' ya an' the map gone.” McCree sighed, smoke flowing out of his mouth as he spoke. “But ya left yer Legolas gear inside.  
\- If that is still a worry on your mind, I can assure you I will not run away.” The archer replied, looking up at the cowboy.  
He had leaned onto the railing, mindless of the wood worryingly creaking under his weight. “Oh I ain't worried. Ya don't seem like a coward or a fiend that'll run away into the night with the goods… Though if ya really did that, I'd track ya down darlin'.” The cowboy smirked, squinting his eyes as the sunlight became a little more intense.

Hanzo retained a heavy sight, looking back at the rising sun. “I believe I made it quite clear that I want you to stop calling me these names.  
\- What, which one?” McCree raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.  
“All of them without a single exception.” The archer retorted firmly. “We are and certainly will never be so close that I would let these slide.  
\- Oh c'mon. How am I supposed to call ya then? Frowny Face Felix?  
\- Please. Do not _ever_ pronounce that again.” Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling that having his patience challenged by the cowboy's shenanigans was going to be something quite recurrent. “You may call me Shimada.” He finally consented.  
“Deal darl- I mean Shimada.”

–

By the time they were ready to go, the mesmerizing halo had vanished and the sun had just left the ground, slowly making its ascension in the sky. The temperature was still low, but Hanzo had a feeling it would change soon.

Without a single glance back at the run-down house, he rolled the map back into its cylinder and safely tucked it in his Obi. They would probably need to consult it every once in a while, and he planned on asking the cowboy questions about it on the way to kill time.  
Going back on the saddle was less difficult than the couple first times, but it made the slight soreness in Hanzo's legs flare up. Though he did not show his discomfort, McCree threw him a knowing stare from above his shoulder. It took the archer frowning to make him look away

However it went on; several times on the road, the cowboy kept looking back at Hanzo, making his frown deepen furthermore at the peeking.  
“Ya keep on sulkin' an' yer face will remain stuck like this forever.” McCree eventually said. “Wouldn't that be a darn shame.” He added with a little wink at Hanzo, making the archer's ears burn in shame. Had this man no dignity whatsoever?  
“Maybe I will stop if you tell me what is on your mind, instead of ogling me constantly. It is becoming rather annoying.” He scowled, hoping that the intensity of his stare would smolder the cowboy's bravado once and for all.

It did not. In fact, it only seemed to amuse him furthermore. “Well I got to do lotsa thinkin' last night an' somethin’ hit me. Before we met, I was just the town's bounty hunter ya know? Dispensin' justice an' makin' sure the folks slept okay at night. An' on the side, I explored this land as long as peace was left undisturbed… But then yer mug showed up on the walls of Li'l Bones' Creek.” He then released the reins to point a metallic finger at Hanzo.  
“I searched for ya in the desert an' found ya easy enough. After yer capture though, things have been goin' South like ya wouldn't believe it. My past mistakes poke their ugly nose outta the graveyard, my workmates drop me in prison harder than a snake in a boot, we escape these fuckers by jus' an inch… An' then ya suddenly get this map pretty much outta yer ass, an' that map is showin' me places I ain't ever seen, with crooks an' turns an' God knows what. An' we don't even know what sorta treasure's at the end of the road, so… it might be ya, who' s got somethin' to say after all pardner.”

Hanzo stayed still and silent all throughout McCree's rant, fists clenched by his sides. Was the cowboy about to turn on him? He thought they had patched things up yesterday, had he been foolishly naive?  
When the cowboy took a pause to puff on his cigar, the archer expected nothing more but an accusation, or a change of mind. Even his nonsensical dream did not want to put up with him anymore.

What he did not expect was the question that popped out of McCree's mouth, as he exhaled fumes into the wind: “Are ya some kinda ghost or somethin'?”

Hanzo gawked audibly, but that did not stop the cowboy from pursuing his ludicrous line of reasoning. “I know I did terrible things before, I've always regretted an' repented for the wrongs I committed. An’ Christmas ain’t far, so… Is this some kinda Scrooge-like thingy, except with a hot-damn model instead the three ghosts? Heck I don't really need convincin' 'bout turnin' away from greed an' selfishness, although I sure wouldn't mind some convincin' from y-  
\- Will you stop running your mouth for a second? All you spew is pure, confusing nonsense!” The archer snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a nasty headache coming up.

“I will admit that this is all very strange and overall suspicious for a coincidence, I agree with you. It would be idiotic to pretend otherwise.” He admitted, before ramming a finger into the cowboy's shoulder. “But in case you have forgotten, Jesse McCree, _you_ found me in the desert and _you_ brought me into that backward justice system!” He hissed, shoving harder at each 'you'. “So I can assure you that, no, I am not a ghost and I certainly have nothing to do with your down-bringing among the local enforcement!”  
To keep the tone from turning up a notch, he withdrew his hand and forced himself to calmly conclude. “As for all of my problems, I know what caused them; it all started with your arresting me on the basis of a poster with my face on it. Despite a complete lack of record. And as I have said before, I have not brought these clothes into my cell, nor have I made this map. This being a dream, it should not matter to you whether it makes sense or not. But you cannot, under any circumstances whatsoever, blame me for something I have no control over.”

McCree remained extremely silent, taking in Hanzo's words. There was an awkward moment, during which Hanzo wondered if he had been too blunt. The cowboy appeared brash and tough, but he seemed to have a thin skin on certain matters.  
Or maybe his words had caused the man to have a revelation about himself.

When Jesse spoke again, he sounded quite thoughtful. “About that… I was thinkin', yer record ain't that clean anymore, considerin' ya broke outta jail with a felon.  
\- Thank you.” The archer sarcastically muttered, shoulders sagging with disappointment. “Next time you have a kind thought like this one, please keep it to yourself.  
\- Hey don't take it the wrong way Shimada. I did think a blank poster was a bit odd, a’right? It bugged me when I noticed it.” McCree sheepishly said, taking his hat off and scratching his messy hair. “But I didn't question it 'cause that's what I do here; I get the posters an' look for the guys. Most of the time they try to hide in the desert with supplies, t'is why I went there an' found you in the first place. Which is a good thing considerin' how ya were doin'.”  
He removed the specks of dust caught on the fabric of his hat, Hanzo left to gaze at the cowboy's sun-kissed neck. Then he placed the Stetson back on his head, tilting it meticulously in a certain angle. “Truth is, if ya truly didn't do nothin', then maybe someone's lookin' for ya an' issued a poster to find ya faster? That would explain the 'preferably alive', but there's still the 'dead' jus' before. So, sorry to break another kind thought to ya, but whoever's lookin' for ya might also wanna kill ya themselves. Any idea who it might be?”

That had the effect of a bomb on Hanzo's mind, the blast whisking his anger away.  
His thoughts immediately turned to Genji. Up to now he had remained uncertain about seeing his little brother in Little Bones' Creek, but the idea that someone could be looking for him made the balance tip.  
With everything that had happened, the characters and the scenery he had randomly summoned in his sleep, the idea that he might have included his little brother in the lot was not unlikely.  
And if his idea was correct, that would explain the mugshot being his own portrait. But that would also mean that Genji was out to get him.  
Get him back for the accident?  
That was quite possible. In fact, should Genji actually wake up from his coma, Hanzo would not be surprised if his little brother resented him for the permanent damages inflicted to his body and face. If that happened, he did not know what he would do. Their relationship had been rocky in the past, execrable at times, but it had never ceased. But if Genji woke and saw what he had done to him-  
_Hands fluttered around his neck._  
_“Hanzo, talk to me!”_

“Shimada?”  
McCree was muttering to him.  
The cowboy was still staring on the road, but he sounded quite uneasy. “Ya've gone real quiet jus' now, y'okay? Ya're also breathin' pretty hard 'gainst my neck right now, I'm not sure if I should be worried or aroused.”  
That made the archer realize he was basically hyperventilating.  
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a palm against his mouth, stopping from breathing all together until he was practically gasping for air. Then he forced an answer out. “Apologies, I just had a passing discomfort. And no, I do not know who would want me sought out.” He gasped, his throat tight and nerves still on edge. A coat of cold sweat covered his forehead and the back of his neck.

“Okay… Still weirds me out that there's no reward. I've seen enough to tell ya're capable an' dangerous when ya're not completely lost. Ya're pretty handy with that bow.” McCree patted his shoulder, not completely oblivious to Hanzo's aborted panic attack and not entirely convinced that he was fine. “Any guy who'd get close 'nough to ya wouldn't wanna brave that tall glass o' trouble without a reward.  
\- If you believe so, then why did you go after me?  
\- Well uhm, to be fair, ya weren't doin' good when I met you. Judgin' ya as a poor sucker way in over his head was too easy when ya were all lost an' as dry an' salty as an anchoa. I mean anchovy, pardon my Spanish. I swear that ain't gonna be a pet name.”

Hanzo weakly puffed. Thinking back of the desert, he had been indeed quite helpless facing the dire situation. “I must confess that I did judge you on my first impression.” He serenely admitted with a steadier voice. “You are actually not too bad yourself. Although I cannot compliment you on your shooting.  
The exaggerated pout McCree made in return had him almost sniggering. “Well I have not seen you take a shot at anyone or anything yet, so I am unable to evaluate your skills as a marksman!  
\- Hey sweethea-Shimada, I don't shoot defenseless people outta the blue.” The cowboy defended himself, waving his cigar so widely that ashes flew all around. “Even the Sheriff… Although I kinda wanted to pop a kneecap or two jus' to be despicable for a change, instead of only threatenin' his ears like ya did.”

The reminiscence got Hanzo smirking. He should not take pride for that intimidation, but it had felt too good not to relish it. “I take that you have not forgiven him for locking you up in spite of your dedicated service to the town?  
\- Well there’s that, but that's the reason why I really wanted to shove him in the safe before we locked him up. The punchin’, that was actually for ya.”  
Again Hanzo was stunned by the cowboy's words, but not as drastically as the previous ones did. “How so?” He pressed, tilting his head to catch the cowboy's face.  
McCree was putting up the poker face again, like an oyster clamping shut to hide its pearl. “The man punched ya an’ called ya an awful name jus' for one li'l quip. I’m half-Native on my ma’s side an’ I guess they neither caught on nor had a problem with me 'specially, I ain't sure. But it doesn’t matter, I don’t take kindly to racism. Even when I ain't a fan o’ the target.”

Hanzo took note of that revelation. Perhaps McCree's tan was his natural skin color rather than prolonged exposition to the sun.  
“Was escaping under his watch and punching him not enough for you? Not only you have hit that man twice in a row and nearly crushed him and his men with your horse, but you have also ridiculed them by escaping in a most spectacular fashion. You have made him lose face in front of all his subordinates.”

The cowboy pretended to ponder on the question, noisily scratching his beard. “Nah, wasn't enough. I totally should’ve popped his kneecaps.” He deadpanned. The archer could not help but openly laugh at the deadpan humor, missing both McCree's small splutter and his ears going red.

The silence that followed was comfortable, the three of them trudging through a narrow glen with nothing but the wind blowing and a few insects buzzing around. Ironically, it was Hanzo who felt the urge to break this peace. He kept wondering why the cowboy was being so quiet and, most of all, why it bothered him so much. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to constant noise, much to his disarray.  
As he searched for an excuse to start a new conversation, he felt the cylinder press against his side. The map! He had been wanting to ask questions and nearly forgot because of their squabbles.

“McCree?” He cleared his throat to avoid startling the cavalier. “I believe you have mentioned visiting several places featured on the map… Could you tell me more about them?  
\- Like I said, only know a handful of 'hem.” The cowboy replied, chewing onto cigar. “Ya sure ya want to know? It'll spoil ya the journey if ya know what to expect.  
\- The very least I need to know then? Or just the names of the regions if there are any? You do not have to go into details about these places, I would just like to know what the regions represented on this map are supposed to be.  
\- A'righty then…” Holding the reins in one hand, McCree awkwardly turned. Hanzo hurriedly took the map out, angling it so the cowboy would not be too uncomfortable.

“So that little nook right there's my hideout.” He placed his finger on the tiny area, then traced along the red line.  
“Now, if my memory's correct, first thing we'll see's the broken Plate.” He circled something that looked like a concentration of lakes. Then he moved to an extended forest. “Then some big woods, as known as the only place where it's constantly humid. It does get cold at times though, so you’ll wanna avoid droppin’ the jacket there. Or else yer poor nip will freeze an' fall off.”

Hanzo blushed horribly, but he pretended he had not heard that last part. “Next?” He pressed, pointing at the wall of peaks practically separating the map in two. The red line was dotted on that section.  
“Next is another big ass mountain chain. but there's a mine going underneath. Kinda like the Moria, only much smaller. It's a nasty fuckin' maze though, but thankfully it has a very safe shortcut. After that, if I ain't mistakin', there are the Horse Hills. That place's a real breather.” He taped the area, a soft smile stretching his lips. “I can't wait to get there. Considering how much ya hated the desert, I think you’ll love it.”  
The fondness in the cowboy's voice as he mentioned the hills made a positive impression on Hanzo, but he still preferred to wait and see for himself. Maybe their different taste would lead them on a disagreement.

“Now some part of the trip will have to be done on foot, 'cause bits like the forest and the mine ain't exactly horse-friendly. Or people-friendly for that matter. But hey, we're two capable pardners, we'll be fine!  
\- I hope so.” The archer muttered under his breath. He was confident in his own skills, but he knew nothing of McCree's, beside the crushing punches he could deliver with either hands. “But what about your horse? We will have to abandon it if the way is impracticable. And what will it do then?  
\- That's sweet of ya, but ya don't have to worry 'bout her.” The cowboy hummed, giving Sis a good pat on the neck. The horse shook her mane in response, ears pointing forward. “She's real capable an' she's been around the land a lot, knows it almost better than I do. When we'll need her back, all I'll have to do is call; she’s always not far… Except when some low-lives try to sell her off behind my back.”  
Sis let out what could be interpreted as an offended huff, her ears briefly pressing against her head.  
“To be fair, they had guns.” Hanzo pointed out. “As amazing as your horse is, I doubt she could catch the bullets between her teeth.  
\- Bah! So can't we. An' I tried, ya're free to believe me or not.”

–

“艱難にあって初めて真友を知る.  
Friends are known first in hardships.  
One has to beware of false friends. If one is in good circumstances, many people pose as friends to have the benefits of friendship. But only the true ones remain in adversity; I have experienced so over the years.  
Considering how we met, McCree is almost a friend of mine. And I do feel we have bounded since our evasion, or at least it feels like we did while constantly bickering. That cowboy has a talent for acting dumb and then suddenly unraveling acute observations or convoluted reasoning. He irks me to no end and then smiles his way out.  
If this is how cowboys built trust with their partners, then there is something about this culture, this way of being that I am utterly failing at grasping. But I do feel safer in his presence now.

I have already described the cowboy's looks in my previous entries, but I am afraid I was not being entirely honest and biased by the anger I felt toward him at the time. Now that I find mister McCree less repelling than I did before and that I have found a little more about his origins, I would like to withdraw my previous statements and give a fresher look on his traits.  
He has strong facial features. His nose might have been broken at least once judging from a faint mark on the cartilage, but it was properly fixed. He has a square jaw, which is sadly eaten by a wild, untrimmed beard. I have not been able to get a good look at his ears, for locks cover them, but I believe one of his lobes used to wear an earring.  
His chestnut hair, very much like his beard, is a disaster that mostly serves as a nest for birds. I suspect that the hat is to prevent them from actually nesting there. To be fair, with the 'bath' I was allowed to have back at the Inn, I doubt Little Bones' Creek had any showers. Not to mention that maintaining hygiene when traveling in mostly dry and hostile places cannot possibly be easy.  
His eyes are surprisingly fascinating; they are hazelnut-colored most of the time, but get most wonderful hues with the sun. From copper to amber, sometimes even gold. I once thought of a wolf when looking into his eyes; I can now safely say that it was a feverish delusion.

I still question myself for summoning such a place and such a strange man in my mind, especially this man who is my complete opposite in so many ways. Could I unconsciously desire to deal with everything I detest impersonated in the shape of one cowboy, in a land that is beyond my understanding and with rules I have absolutely no knowledge of?  
One would think I should know for creating it, but I absolutely do not have the faintest clue. I discover it as I go. I almost feel like I am intruding into this land.  
Maybe I have been suffering the writer's block for so long that my own creativity has become estrange to me. In that case, does it make Jesse McCree the ‘ambassador’ to reconcile the two of us?

I despise interpretations. Dreams should not enforce so much complexity. Or have absolute continuity. It is simply bizarre.

As much as I complain, I will admit that all of this truly feels like a blast of fresh air. It is an indisputably wonderful change from the nightmares, from which I never learn anything but the very little I remember about the accident.  
Which is basically a blur of drowned-out sensations and Genji calling-”

Hanzo froze in his typing. He had not meant to approach the accident, but the thought of Genji back in the dream had weakened his defenses.  
Before he could stop, the fragments of memory hit him back with a vicious sting.

_“Hanzo wake up!!”  
The leather creaked beneath his fingers, seams digging in his palms._

_“What?”  
A loud screeching tearing through his temples, his back slamming against the seat._

_Heat bit in his already injured hands, yet he pulled with all his might. It hurt so much-  
“Hanzo!”_

_The entire world spinning, his body flung around like a doll in a dishwasher and pain radiating with each impact.  
“Anija? Is something wrong?”_

By the time Hanzo snapped out of it, cold sweat was gathering at his hairline and his fingers were painfully digging in his biceps.  
Two attacks in a row were not a good sign. He had to tread more carefully least he ventured too far on this territory. He took several deep breaths, waiting for his heartbeat to regulate before he wiped his forehead and got back to typing, completely erasing the unfinished sentence.

“Whatever happens, I will pursue this journey. It is the only opportunity I have to experience something new and inspiring. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  
Even though I have to wait for nighttime and follow a frustratingly complex man, it is quite intriguing and, dare I say, thrilling.”

He saved the document, then left his computer to get the draft he had left on his table yesterday.  
There was a poem about sun dogs waiting to be written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Don't look like a Henry' quote is a shameless reference to an excellent McHanzo story that I highly recommend, [vandoodle's Good Fences Make Good Neighbors](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7509139/chapters/17070001)~


	15. Vertical Limit pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)  
> Thank you guys soooo freaking much for all the comments and kudos. If you thought I would get tired of thanking you, I can assure you that I will use every single update to share my gratitude (ノ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)ノ彡✧*❤
> 
> This chapter was originally going to be way longer. But then I had additional ideas for its second part, and the chapter coming after needs a serious revamping. Sorry ʕ˃̵ᴥ˂̵;ʔ
> 
>  
> 
> [Anyway, here is the cover art for this chapter! I was inspired to make one at last :'D](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/161174856721/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-with-a-cover)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter!

If someone had told Hanzo weeks ago that he would be looking forward for the night, their claims would have been met with disbelief and vitriol.

After several more days without a single disturbance in the continuity of his dreams, there was not the shadow of a doubt that they would carry on the next night. For how long this routine was going to last was a puzzling mystery, which he had no mean to solve and no care to find out.  
Discovering a logical reason behind this unnatural occurrence was also far behind in his priorities, to the point he hardly thought of it anymore. The Internet would certainly not bring him an answer, that he had been quick to realize. 

His poems drew more and more materials from the things he dreamt of; the 'sundog' at the shack had peculiarly inspired him, forcing him to review his old color lexical in order to properly depict the phenomena he had witnessed.  
For his efforts, he earned Gabriel and Jack's pleased surprise at his radical shift in tone; his last work had got him so much praise from his editors that he had blushed in self-consciousness and immediately tried to undermine his success.

Starting a new novel fell back in his list, Hanzo working instead on consigning the entirety of the dreams into his 'journal'. There was no pressure in writing his dreams down, only the pleasure of rebuilding his talent and telling the lived figments.  
At this rate, he was going to need an index in order to find his way around the document, for the page count kept increasing; every single detail was explicitly added into the text, even McCree's odd and inappropriate flirting that embarrassed him to no end. And if there was something Hanzo Shimada never did, no matter what style he explored, it was being greedy at holding onto details.

The cowboy's dialog remained difficult to transcribe; the Southern accent and McCree's lack of annunciation often obscured the clarity of his words, the man sounding like he was talking in his own language half of the time. Moreover he had occasional slip-ups in a completely different tongue, either for insults or whenever the cowboy had forgotten a word and could only remember its Spanish equivalent. While these happened quite rarely, they made his job all the more difficult.  
Hanzo had not struggled to understand someone this much since his very first English lessons. He had always been a fast learner, but McCree’s speech forced him to deploy extra effort and attention. It felt like someone was constantly pouring honey into his ears.

Not that it was a bad sensation. There were times when the cowboy's drawl reached such a depth that shivers ran up the archer's spine. It bore an inviting warmth, similar to the one a sip of good saké left in the throat. While Hanzo had not drunk any in a while, he remembered the pleasant sensation vividly.  
Despite his difficulties, he was slowly adjusting to his interlocutor's way of speaking, recognizing his intonations and adapting to his quirks enough to do them justice in his transcriptions.

There were also little interesting things he had noticed about McCree and thoroughly documented:  
\- He cared a lot more about his ridiculous outfit than Hanzo had first thought. He would dust his hat, belt and boots whenever they were taking a break, and sew any holes or tears in his serape with a particular attention. Coquetry or sentimental meaning behind the items, the writer could not tell what drove the cowboy without asking. Though he definitely suspected the second, since that mindfulness did not apply to the cowboy's beard or hair.  
At least McCree had kindly agreed to lend him his sewing kit, should he require it for his own clothes.  
On a side note, the meaning hidden behind the cryptic BAMF buckle was narrowed down to three potential ones: Bad Ass Mother Fucker, Bad At Making Friends and Boys Are My Favorite. The writer could honestly not tell which one applied. All of them he would say, or at the very least the last two.

\- He also showed a certain environmental conscious, and tremendous respect for the wildlife surrounding them. That had been fairly easy to figure after the assiduous defense of the vultures and his complicity with Sis, whom Hanzo had started referring to as ‘her’ orally and in his notes. He had picked it on from Jesse and could not exactly backtrack without seeming utterly rude.  
Even the most repulsive creatures were graced; even the massive tarantula that Hanzo had seen crawling up the cowboy's leg one morning.  
While he had been holding perfectly still in case the hairy-legged abomination was poisonous, McCree had serenely picked it up on his gloved hand and tossed it away from their camp. When the archer had asked why not use the prosthetic instead for more safety, the cowboy had voiced the concern that his metallic fingers would have crushed the “poor li’l fellah”.

\- Finally, he was more of a lone traveler, unused to having company; sometimes he would look over his shoulder and be surprised to find Hanzo sitting behind him, as if he had forgotten about his presence or expected him to have disappeared.  
It could also be the sign of a lack of trust, but then the cowboy would not have let him sit behind his back with a quiver full of sharp arrows. He would have wanted him to be sitting on the front.   
On the other hand, Hanzo did not know his way around and could not lead a horse, even if his life depended on it. So neither of them really had a choice on the matter, whether they fully trusted each other or not.

To avoid getting more cramps and feel less feeble in the presence of the taller man, Hanzo had taken up in muscular exercising. The secret practice on the rooftop had allowed him to preserve a reasonable amount of strength, but it was not enough to stand the constant horse riding and face the potential challenges this journey held for them.

The fact he could motivate himself enough to do muscle reinforcement on the floor of his flat had to be a sign that he was getting somewhat better, when extricating himself out of bed took so much energy and will.   
The good it did to his body actually carried out into his dreams; his thighs no longer suffered the ride, and he could out-walk the cowboy whenever they went on foot to give Sis a breather.

In spite of all these ups, he still struggled with the downsides.  
While the full nights had cured him of tiredness, they came with mornings feeling nauseous and occasionally very confused. In his dreams, Hanzo tended to forget that he had never moved away from his futon; it made waking up to reality completely disorienting, and sometimes heartbreaking. The dreams were colorful and interesting, even when all McCree and him did was going on their way without anything happening.  
Reality was just the same grey and dark place, with depression lurking in every corner of his mind and waiting for one wrong thought to latch on to him.

With his mental state being so fragile, he worried that the prolongation of the treatment would bring on the worst side-effects. If he were to put a halt to it, his only options would be to change medication, or stop taking any altogether.  
What kept him even considering these options were the worst outcomes that would likely happen; his dreams abruptly discontinuing and the nightmares coming back in force, teamed up with insomnia. Either possibilities would only result in his recent progress getting undone in a matter of days.

Hanzo did not mention his dilemma to either Ana or Zenyatta, whom he already told nothing to begin with, or any of his friends. Instead, he decided to carry on and deal with the side-effects the best he could.  
All because of a cowboy in his head that he could not afford to lose, even for the sake of his mental health. He hoped McCree was somehow aware of his efforts, the ungrateful cowman.

–

For days Hanzo, Jesse and Sis had been walking through an outback that offered nothing but bad weeds and intriguing bushes. Its rare living habitants were mostly rabbits and coyotes, which stayed away from their group.

One night, a pack of canids had tried attacking Sis's ankles; by the time both men had their weapons ready to fire, the coyotes were scampering away from the horse's kicking hooves. McCree had definitely not exaggerated the horse’s capabilities.  
Hanzo had not felt very safe about camping in the open, and that one attack had only reinforced that insecurity. More than the coyotes, he worried about actual people finding them, especially the Sheriff and the cowboys of Little Bones' Creek, or other bounty hunters on their tracks.  
Finding his concern reasonable, McCree had offered to do night watches. More than once his soft humming had caused the archer to doze off, even though the travel blanket hardly made the floor comfortable. In the mornings, Hanzo would wake early and guard their camp with the Jesse's snoring for background noise, until the cowboy finally rose from his sleep.

While their caution was wise, nothing ever happened. As beautiful as the field was with its wild plants and open sky, it was remarkably empty.  
That emptiness made the archer all the more intrigued when he noticed some kind of rocky formation up ahead.  
It looked high, stretching along the entire horizon. For days it had been hidden by a sandy mist, a sandstorm created by the strong winds swiping through the desert and carrying its sand all across the land according to McCree. But it seemed to have passed, and now the relief structure was in plain sight. 

Frowning, Hanzo gently shook McCree's shoulder and pointed at the rock mass. “What is this? According to the map, there should be several lakes in this area. There is nothing depicting high grounds at all… Unless it represents a view from above.  
\- That's most likely, 'cause what ya see over there's the broken Plate itself.” McCree gestured at the chain. “Ya can't see the lakes 'cause the Plate’s a dissected plateau an’ it surrounds them lakes. I dunno how they appeared, might've been some underground water that pierced its way through.” He paused to extinguish what remained of his cigar against his metallic palm. “Only birds an’ wild goats get to enjoy them though. Unlike the canyons, ain't any passage through to the inside. 'S kinda like a natural fortress. Heck the only reason I know 'bout them lakes is 'cause I suspected there was some kinda water source nearby. Yer map's what confirmed it.”

When they reached the foot of the relief, Jesse stirred Sis away from the broken Plate, making her turn and contour the gentle slope bordering the rocky wall. Perplexed, Hanzo nudged the cowboy's shoulder again. “Why are we not stopping? We are not going to make a detour around it, are we?”  
Jesse blinked at him, looking like this was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. And this was a man who had compared him to three vengeful Christmas ghosts days ago. “Well, as I've explained, we can't get through that mountain. An' we're certainly not gonna climb it, so I'm plannin' to go 'round it. Easy-peasy right?”

Hanzo frowned, furthermore puzzled. “McCree, this is not a mountain. You just called it a plateau.  
\- Whaddya mean? It's high an’ rocky!” The cowboy scoffed with a shrug. “How doesn't that qualify as a mountain?  
\- Mountains are not just forty meters high and straight up flat on the top. It is not the same thing.  
\- Forty meters sounds pretty high t'me! How much is that in less fancy units anyway?”  
The archer pinched the bridge of his nose, summoning his patience and the rusty remains of his knowledge on measurement systems. “Approximately one hundred and thirty foot.” He muttered once he was done with the mental arithmetic. “Does that sound any better?  
\- How much is that in inches?  
\- I do not know, I am not a unit converter.” Hanzo snapped. “Whatever we call it or whichever flawed unit you want to use does not matter. The path to the treasure is plotted on the map in a way that clearly suggests that we must go over this plateau. So, why not climb it?” He insisted, annoyed and intrigued by the man's manifest reluctance.

McCree's shoulders slightly tensed up, but his voice remained just as nonchalant as before. “Because it's dangerous an' I ain't one to go break my neck over some rocks.” He muttered, ruffling through Sis' mane as the horse huffed loudly, either to pity or mock him.  
“Dangerous? You made your horse jump over a ravine.” In one look, the archer assessed the relief. “This wall looks sturdy to me, and there are plenty of good grips for climbers, even without proper equipment.” He paused, looking back at McCree inquisitively. “Have you never climbed before? If not, between the canyons, the ravines and now this, I wonder how you manage to get around.”

When the cowboy's face bluntly soured, Hanzo realized he had just hit a nerve. To prevent the incoming fight, he promptly decided to give McCree's proposition some consideration. “How much time would it take to walk around this entire formation and return to the original path?”  
Surprisingly it worked; Jesse's scowl changed into a focused frown, as it was his turn to do the math. “The broken Plate goes on a little more than a hundred miles. So I'd say a week or ten days at most, if we don't get attacked on the way. There are bandits crawlin' 'round that road, not to mention we'd have to cross several territories where the wildlife can become a little snappy 'bout intruders an’- ya don't fancy that idea do ya.” He interrupted himself when Hanzo discreetly shook his head.  
“I assume it would be much shorter to go over the Plate rather than around?” The archer pressed on, crossing his arms over his chest. McCree scratched his neck uncomfortably, before he replied into his beard. “It's about six miles in width, so roughly a couple hours without including ascending an’ descending-  
\- There you go. Going around would not only make us lose several days, it also sounds much more dangerous than climbing. At least the rocks are not going to try and shoot us down or bite us, and the gain in time is considerable even if you climb at the pace of a snail.”

Without waiting for McCree to attempt a rebuttal, Hanzo jumped down the saddle and made his way up the slope.  
From a closer stand, the wall looked like some kind of coppery magmatic rock. The archer felt it, assessing its texture and testing its resistance; it was just as sturdy as it seemed, and coated with a thin layer of golden sand that adhered to his finger pads and might make up for having no talc.  
A single glance was all he needed to find which handholds would allow him to efficiently reach the summit. There were crevasses, defects, clefts and even a few ledges on the way up with perhaps enough room to sit down and catch a breath.

Down the slope, McCree had not moved from his spot. Still sitting on Sis, he had lit another cigar and was smoking nervously. “C'mon darli-Shimada!” He shouted impatiently at the archer. “We've got the finest horse here an' no climbin' gear, why not keep our feet on the ground like reasonable earthlings an' stride 'round the mountain or whatever ya wanna call that pile o-whoa there!”  
Before the cowboy's bewildered eyes, Hanzo had jumped up to catch a finger hold and hoisted himself up, planting his feet into the nooks of the wall.  
By the time Jesse jumped down the saddle and ran up the slope, the archer had already gone up by a few meters. He progressed rapidly, his transitions from one hold to another swift and agile.

“Shave my legs an' call me granny!” The cowboy guffawed incredulously, knocking his hat back to get a good look at the archer. “Did ya get bit by a radioactive spider? Or are ya an actual ninja?  
\- I fail to understand half of the nonsense that spews out of your mouth.” Hanzo groaned, maintaining most of his focus on the positioning of his feet and hands. Now the workout supremely payed off; he had not climbed anything in years and had almost forgotten how physical it was. “You should get going, unless you are planning to take roots down there.  
\- I can't follow you up ‘ere Shimada! Jus' hold on a sec an' take a good look at me yeah?”

Hanzo reached the first ledge and held onto its border as he turned to stare down at McCree. Only now he realized that he had forgotten about the man's prosthetic hand. Even if he seemed to be quite agile with it, it did highly hinder his ability to hold on. Not to mention the cowboy boots that would definitely not ease his footing on the wall.  
“Ya see what I mean?” Jesse sighed, openly discouraged. “Supposin' I accept to follow ya up here, how the heck am I supposed to actually do it? I can't jus' go gecko like ya. So unless ya wanna see me fall on my ass over an’ over, an' I'm sure ya'd get a good kick out of it, we ain't gonna get very far like this.”

Rather than admitting that he would really enjoy watching the mouthy cowboy ridicule himself, Hanzo sat on the ledge and thoughtfully redid his ponytail. His eyes fell on Sis, who was still waiting down the slope and observing them.  
“Do you still have a lasso in your possession, like the one you used to catch me? Or perhaps a longer rope?” Hanzo asked out of the blue as an idea came to him.  
Beneath him, Jesse squinted his eyes and slowly grinned. “Why's that? Ya want me to catch ya again? Do ya miss bein' tied up?  
\- Imbecile, I am going to aid you!” The archer exasperatedly shouted, hoping the distance between the two of them was enough to hide the angry coloration spreading on his cheeks. “Go get the rope instead of tiring me with your silly blabber!”

His tone must have convinced McCree, for the cowboy just uttered 'yessir' and rushed back to Sis. He came back within a minute, a rope coiled around his arm. “Now what do I gotta do with that?  
\- You take one end of the rope and make it circle around that atrocious thing you call a belt and your thighs.” Hanzo dictated, while Jesse followed his instructions the best he could. “Then you tie it back around your waist and make a couple solid knots, the kind only a knife could undo. Now throw the other end at me.”  
The cowboy swiftly threw the rope up, the archer hardly needing to lean in order to catch the extremity. At least Jesse had a good throwing arm.  
“While you climb, I will pull most of your weight… Just so you are aware, I would have preferred you had a real harness and snap hooks. This is not entirely safe and it will be extremely uncomfortable, but we will have to make do with what you have. Does that suit you?”

McCree audibly swallowed. Perhaps it was not a good idea to say such things before the hesitating cowboy, but the archer was not going to sugar-coat the truth; the plateau was high enough to get broken bones with a serious concussion if one were to fall down, and the lack of proper gear casted an important risk margin that no one should overlook.

As Jesse looked just about to give up entirely, Hanzo realized something. “McCree.” He called, meeting the hazel eyes. “Keep in mind that whoever made this map may be still alive. Once they will realize that it is not in their possession, they will attempt to retrieve it. Your detour would then cost us time that we do not have.”  
McCree vaguely nodded in agreement, but still seemed very split about this. So much so that the archer _almost_ pitied him.  
Then the cowboy suddenly looked up, throwing puppy eyes at him. “Ya promise ya ain't gonna let me fall to my death?” He asked, unusually sounding unsure and pleading.  
Now the 'almost' turned into 'assuredly'; Hanzo could not help but feel for the man. “I promise I won't. Unlike you Jesse McCree, I do not joke around with perilous situations.” He replied seriously, rolling up his sleeves and wounding the rope around his waist.

McCree looked up at him, scuffled about, then finally the archer gave a firm nod. “Okay. Let's do this.” He grumbled, crushing his cigar on the wall and firmly shoving his Stetson over his head. He gestured at Sis, the horse turning and pursuing the detour around the plateau on her own. “If I'm gonna suffer all throughout this, better do it without her around. She'd be capable o’ remindin' me all about it till the day I die.”  
In the face of such determination, the archer allowed himself to smile.

–

As McCree made his way up centimeter by centimeter, Hanzo did everything in his power to keep his patience from drastically thinning.  
All he could do was standing up on the ledge, firmly planet on his feet with most of the rope wrapped around his shoulder and back, while he pulled most of the cowboy's weight to help him ascend.  
Of course he refrained from commenting, having figured out after the first meter that the cowboy's reluctance was assuredly spurred by a fear of heights and not some nonsensical aversion to mountains and climbing in general.

Unfortunately, he also discovered that the cowboy was very easy to set off when scared.  
“Put yerself in ma shoes!” He had hissed when the archer had sighed a little too hard. “Feels like gravity's pullin' me down by both ankles!  
\- The only thing pulling you is me, in the upward direction.” Hanzo scolded, resisting the urge of giving the rope a good tug. “Maybe gravity aims to strip you of your awful boots.”

McCree was about to snap back when his foot slipped from a smooth notch. His involuntary shriek warned Hanzo before the man's entire weight suddenly hit him with full strength.  
The improvised harness securely tied around the cowboy's hips and Hanzo's reactiveness prevented them both from falling, but the recoil still hit them hard. The archer could barely contain a pained groan as he held onto the rope with both hands, the rope tightly hugging his waist and burning his skin. McCree was heavy, significantly heavier than him considering his build, and that weight tugged at his upper body.  
But Hanzo held on, anchoring his heels into the ledge and pulling back as hard as he could to stop the fall.

“McCree?” He called breathlessly, the muscles from his hand to his shoulder stressed by the effort and the friction of the rope.  
No response. “McCree!” He hissed urgently, starting to panic. The weight was there, so the rope had not gone unloose and let the man drop to his death. But why did he not answer? Had he knocked his head against the wall with the momentum?  
Once Hanzo felt safe to move, he carefully took a look over the edge.

The sight of the tall cowboy practically curled into a ball and holding onto the rope with all his might ultimately reassured Hanzo, while pity flared anew in his heart. Saying he looked upset was putting it mildly. “Are you alright?” The archer winced.  
“… 'M alive.” McCree forced out, slowly releasing the rope and reaching out for the wall. A visible tremor shook his hands, and moving his body seemed to cost him tremendous amounts of energy.  
“I am very reassured to hear that. Once you'll have reached the ledge, we can wait a couple minutes before pursuing.” Hanzo offered empathically.

He was about to step back when Jesse looked up, face coated in sweat and devoid of its usual composure. “What I need's my two feet back on firm fuckin' ground. D-don't ya let go of that rope, okay?” He panted, his voice quite hoarse. A few breaks were definitely going to be mandatory.  
“I will not. I promised, remember? Without you, who else would break my ears with awful singing?” Hanzo jested, hoping the tease would help Jesse relax a little.  
And it thankfully did; the cowboy regained a bit of color and immediately faked a hurt expression. “Bullshit darlin', ya never peeped a word 'bout it till now!” Hell ya sure know when to pick yer moments for reproaches!  
\- Not saying a word does not equal approval. You have never asked me once if I wanted you to stab my temples repeatedly.  
\- Eh, I bet ya secretly love it!”

As soon as McCree was in his reach, Hanzo knelt and extended a hand toward him. The cowboy immediately clasped it, gripping onto the archer's arm as he pulled him up.  
“Thank sweet baby Jesus.” Jesse croaked, slumping face down against the dusty surface. “Oh man, I need a smoke.  
\- Sweet baby Jesus? Nice try, but I will not tolerate that pet name either.” Hanzo idly replied, loosening the rope around his waist. “It would be better if you refrained from smoking now. We still have a long way to climb, and you are already wheezing enough as it is. But once we have reached the top, you can smoke away.  
\- Damn ya're bossy, ya know that?” McCree muttered, sitting up awkwardly. His entire face was now covered in sand, but he looked a little better.  
Hanzo still shot him a piercing glare. “Is that a problem? I can let you climb on your own if you feel too strung up.  
\- Nah I'm good. That was… Motivational. Thanks.”

–

“Keep your eyes up there Jesse.” Hanzo cautioned as the cowboy started cramping up on the wall.  
“Easier said than done! I mean, I'd gaze at yer face anytime, but gravity's pullin' at my eyes too now!  
\- Whenever you look down, you tense because of the height. That alone not only saps your strength, but your body will naturally want to follow the same direction than your eyes.  
\- Oh shucks… How am I supposed to see where I'm puttin' my feet?  
\- Feel around, move one foot at a time, only look at the wall and nothing else around. When it will be my turn to climb, keep track of where I put my feet so you may find your way more easily.  
\- Not sure how I can do that when all my eyes wanna keep track of is yer gorgeous bum.  
\- McCree!  
\- Sorry!” The cowboy hastily stammered. “Please don't drop me, I-I was jus' jokin'!”

–

It took thirty minutes in total to reach the very top of the plateau. McCree had been awfully slow to begin with, and the fall had shaken him up to the point he became even slower. But the rest of the ascension went a lot smoother and the cowboy eventually managed to reach the very top of the plateau.

Both men were now sitting on a rock, enjoying the sight. McCree smoked like a chimney and was still unable to stand on his legs, but he was showing signs of recovery; his face had regained all of its colors, and his hands had stopped shaking.  
“Phew! Looks mighty higher from up here! I gotta say though… Good teamwork.” He hummed, tilting his hat to shield his eyes from the sun.

Hanzo threw a glance at the cowboy, then he let the faintest smile grace his lips. “For someone fearing heights, you managed very well. Perhaps it is why there are places you have not yet seen. If you had not gone all the way up here, you would have never seen this.  
\- Might be.” Jesse hummed pensively, ashes falling from his cigar whisked away by the wind. “Can't say it wasn't worth it. I guess I owe ya for pullin' my ass all the way up 'ere.”

Even though the plateau was completely barren and flat, the lakes between its large crevices were remarkably beautiful. Clear blue water shimmered under the sun, surrounded by exotic foliage and tall, thin trees.  
It attracted the archer, tempting him to climb down there and explore the untapped earth. But McCree would assuredly refuse to take a part of it, and it would take way too much time.  
“Be proud of yourself, that is all you owe me.” He replied, locking eyes with the cowboy. “I only assisted you and made sure you would not fall, you did the rest of the work.”

Once the cowboy's knees stopped being wobbly, they got up and walked toward the other end of the plateau. The top was thankfully not too shattered, offering many practicable courses along the cracks that furrowed the plateau. Had it not been the case, the vast gaps would have been just impossible to jump over; almost all of them were wider than the ravine at the Canyon.

Halfway across the top, McCree decided that the silence needed to be broken. Apparently the repeated jingling of his spurs whenever he took a step was not enough for him. “So uhm, Shimada?” He asked out of the blue. “How does a man like ya pop up in a bone-dry place like the desert?” He sounded nonchalant, but any trained ears would have picked up the inquisitive undertone.  
It made Hanzo wonder whether he should give McCree the plain truth and blatantly state once again that this was all his dream, or lie completely about his arrival and play a role.  
For instance, a lone, mysterious archer completely lost and seeking for a treasure just as mysterious.  
Now all he had to do was making it sound credible and a little more original.

He knew that Jesse was still waiting for his answer, so he hurriedly replied. “I… I fell.” Way to go Hanzo. “From the s-sky?” Even better. He seriously needed to boost his creativity because he was seriously losing it.  
“Ya fell. From the sky.” McCree repeated, eyes crinkling in amusement and suspicion.  
“Well, obviously not, but… It is a long, complicated story.” Hanzo muttered, smoothing the fabric of his Obi to remove any wrinkles.  
“An' ya're reluctant to tell? It's alright, we're both runaways now. It doesn't matter what ya did, we're in this together. Cross my heart.” For good measure, he even held his two hands up to demonstrate he was not crossing his fingers behind his back.  
“To tell you the truth…” 'Think quickly, you are an awarded author for Heaven's sake.' He thought to himself, lowering his eyes.  
His gaze fell on what little of the dragon tattoo was uncovered. “Dragons.” He whispered to himself.

McCree looked down at him curiously. “What did ya say?  
\- I did fall from the sky.” Hanzo stated with a little more assurance, meeting the hazel eyes. “But I will not tell you how. That, is my secret.” He added, solemnly placing a hand over his heart.  
But it did not prevent the cowboy from practically bursting with questions. “Wait, wait, hold on a sec’! Ya mean ya were actually flyin'? How the heck did ya do that? D'ya do magic? Do ya have hidden wings or somethin' like that?  
\- What part of 'my secret' did you not understand?  
\- C'mon, I ain't gonna tell nobody! Double promise, hell I'll even pinkie-promise if that reassures ya!” And already he was extending his flesh pinkie at Hanzo.  
How could this gruff man be so childish? “That will not be necessary, thank you.” Hanzo chuckled, gently pushing McCree's hand away.

“Since the beginning of time, an ancestral power has been in my family. The power of the great Dragons.” He marked a pause to assess McCree's reaction. The man seemed astonished, but he did not say one word.  
“Through the blood that runs in our veins, I was granted their power from the moment I was born.” He continued with all the seriousness he could muster. “It gave me certain abilities, which I can only use timely. So before you ask, no I could not have brought us over this obstacle or directly to the treasure.” He added when he saw Jesse about to open his mouth.  
The cowboy's shoulders comically sagged in disappointment and Hanzo felt his zygomatic arches twitch.  
“While I cannot tell you how I have arrived here, I can say that going here was not a decision of my own volition.” He continued, schooling his expression into an imperturbable mask. “I was inexplicably torn from my-”  
The word 'home' came to him, but died in his mouth instantly. The Shimada estate surrounded by Hanamura, the golden cage from which he had fled with Genji to free their lives from the talons of the clan, was not to be named as such. And his current flat had never felt welcoming, he could not stand to call it that.  
“-my residence, and abruptly thrown here without an explanation. You saw yourself how ill-prepared I was and how easy it was for you to subdue me. This chest we found in the cell was clearly meant for me, but from whom I have not the faintest clue. Certainly not from my peers, for I am the only one here…  
I wish I knew why I was sent here, believe me. But there is one thing I do know, and it is my will to pursue this quest till we find our treasure, no matter what predicaments we stumble onto.” Hanzo firmly concluded, tilting his head up in a prideful, upright stance.

McCree stayed silent for a few minutes, chewing onto his words. The archer stayed collected, but he discreetly held his breath.  
The man thoughtfully scratched his beard before he finally spoke again: “I ain't gonna lie, yer story's pretty vague an' crazy.”  
Hanzo slightly sobered up, mind already racing to try and think of a less eccentric explanation. But then the cowboy smiled lightly, cupping his shoulder and giving it a gentle shake. “In this place though, it ain’t like it’s impossible. Ya're pretty peculiar, dragon pardner, but I believe ya. An' when ya said ' _our_ treasure'? That was real cute of ya, I'm super touched.”

Hanzo stared at McCree in pure disbelief. He had actually bought his improvised, questionable story about dragons and bloodlines.  
Well, not entirely improvised if he were to be honest. Stories about the Dragons had sweetened his childhood, nurturing his imagination and spurring him the wish of writing such stories.  
He knew these tales belonged to the lore of the Shimada-Gumi, that they had only served to scare gullible children into respect and, in his case, educate the firstborn about the importance of the family, the duties and the leadership that would rest upon their shoulders in the future.

Using these legends to justify his presence here left a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth. But he was most of all relieved that they had served him well in the end.

McCree suddenly waved a new cigar dangerously close to his face. “Hey, I know it sounds silly, but I gotta ask ya anyway. Can ya breathe fire?”  
Perhaps it would end up underserving him more than anything around a man like Jesse McCree. “If I had been able to do such a thing, I would have roasted you where you stood back in the desert.” Hanzo scoffed, swatting away the hand with the cigar and the one still pawing at his shoulder.  
“What, I ain't hot 'nough for ya?” Jesse laughingly nagged, his bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. “Ya're a picky one. Oh well, I guess no dragon can resist a nice Kentucky Fried Cowboy.”

The archer spent the rest of their crossing loudly and clearly denying that he had outright _snorted_ at the atrocious pun, while the cackling cowboy contended just as raucously that he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wishes to make drawings based on this fic, you totally should! I'd be more than happy to see your stuff (๑◕ᴗ˂̵)


	16. Vertical Limit pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a poem I made myself, so it's pretty bad  
> that's all for the warnings (ᐛ`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there y'all (｡◕‿◕｡) [Happy Pride Month!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/161405519561/happy-pride-month-yall-%CA%95-%E1%B4%A5-%CA%94)
> 
> As always, thank you sooooo much for the kudos and comments ;w; it recharges me with McHanzo energy!
> 
> [Here are the doodles I made to accompany this chapter! ](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/161440886596/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-hey)  
> I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, I finished it just now and am very tired ʕ≖ᴥ≖ʔ
> 
>  **Announcement!**  
>  Next update will not be next week, but the week after. I need a little more time to write next chapter because it needs a serious revamping ʕ꒦ິᴥ꒦ິ`ʔ  
> But I might post doodles on my tumblr to make the wait feel shorter ;3

After a long walk spent bickering and dodging more of McCree's awful jokes, the two men reached the opposite edge of the plateau. Beside a brief encounter between a wild goat's horns and McCree's chest armor, the hike had gone like a walk in the park.

During the walk, Hanzo had started thinking about his last travel with Genji and realized how much he missed it. Discovering new places along with the local culture, visiting towns while using the small roads to avoid the overly touristic parts and, his favorite, wandering across more or less frequented territories.

Of course each one of his travels had been precociously prepared in advance, every detail and eventualities planned. The writer was not one to go holus-bolus into a travel.  
And while Genji was not the most agreeable person to travel with (often forgetting to pack essentials and bringing useless things instead, not being a morning person in general, getting easily tired and bored when not inappropriately flirty with tourists and locals, etcetera), Hanzo had not once desired to have it any other way.  
Moreover, these trips had been quite beneficial for his little brother in terms of artistic inspiration; there was not a voyage that had not ended with Genji filling an entire notebook with sketches, trinkets and photos.  
Hanzo still had all of them, safely stashed in one of the carton boxes piled up in his living room; maybe he would look through them sometime soon, when he would feel strong enough to bear the reminiscence of these happier times.

On this side of the broken Plate, the landscape had a tremendous change of scenery; an impressive woodland stretched beyond sight, neatly cutting an end to the outback.  
The presence of such a vast forest in the middle of dryness and heat was quite odd, considering the most luxurious foliage they had seen so far were cactuses. However Hanzo kept in mind that this was a dream; there was absolutely no reason for the landscape to make any sort of sense.  
Especially when the oddest thing about it remained the cowboy standing by his side.

“I suppose that this is the forest?” The archer asked, turning his gaze toward McCree. The man did not answer right away, as he struggled to properly tie the rope back around his belt. Hanzo would offer his help, but he did not feel remotely comfortable putting his hands in the immediate vicinity of the cowboy’s crotch.  
Eventually the cowboy tied the final knots with a triumphant noise, then he met Hanzo’s eyes. “Yep, that’s it alright. Behold, the Forest of Tranquility!” He beamed dramatically, extending an arm toward the woods.

Hanzo stared at McCree, baffled. “This is the official name of this forest?” The cowboy nodded vigorously. “That is quite underwhelming. Who came up with such a simplistic name?  
\- T’is I darlin’.  
\- A simplistic name, yet quite telling of what one feels gazing upon such abundant nature in the driest land.” The archer quickly added without shifting tones.  
“Nice try hun’.” Jesse smirked, throwing finger guns at the archer. “I know it doesn’t sound bodacious one bit, but I couldn’t think of anythin’ else an’ renamin’ it has never been a priority. Besides I don’t usually spent all that much time in there. Only hardened criminals are ballsy enough to hide among the trees. The others usually stick to the towns surroundin’ the desert and the canyons.”

Hanzo reported his gaze to the woods. There was no sign of life, nothing to indicate any sort of human or animal presence. “Hardened criminals in the Forest of Tranquility. That seems somewhat ironic.” He muttered. “Does that include you by the way?  
\- Sure will once I set a foot in there.” Jesse hummed before he threw the rope at Hanzo. “An’ that also includes ya Shimada. Don't forget that ya're on the run with me.  
\- I am not a criminal.” The archer lied, ignoring the stinging sensation that crawled along his tattooed arm. Avoiding the cowboy's eyes, he wound the line around his waist.

In order to climb down, they had to do the same maneuver over, only the other way around; the cowboy had to go first, Hanzo lowering him onto the closest ledge with the rope. Then the archer would climb down until he reached the same ledge, and so on until they made it back to the ground.  
While this side of the plateau was much higher and sharper, its numerous irregularities offered a wide choice of holds and ridges.

“After this, I'm so done. Done with mountains, plateaus an' whatever the fuck's higher than a horse. For life.” McCree grunted through his teeth as he neared the edge and carefully got onto the wall.  
The moment he looked down in order to see where he should put his feet, he immediately tried to scramble back up. “Ah, I don't wanna do this, this is worse than climbin' up!” He whined, while Hanzo knelt before him and rested his hands on his shoulders to keep him in place.  
“Look.” He said with all the calmness he could muster, looking directly into McCree's eyes. “To put it bluntly, either you stay up here forever while I go seek this treasure on my own, unless you somehow manage to climb down by yourself and catch up with me. Or we progressively descend together the same way we ascended in the first place.”

As Jesse swallowed heavily, he gave his shoulders a light tap. “I am still going to assist you. My promise of not letting you fall extends to this, and you have successfully managed to climb just moments ago. There is nothing to fear.” He assured, hoping he sounded reassuring enough.  
He was actually a little worried that the rope would wear out faster on the jagged wall, but he stayed quiet on the matter. McCree was being awfully reluctant once again, there was no need to fuel his apprehension. They only had this one rope after all.

“Pah! Ya couldn't go on without me, ya don't even know where ya're goin’!” The cowboy retorted, his hands still gripping onto the edge of the plateau. The dry roots caught between his metallic fingers snapped audibly.  
“Then my map and I will get lost away from you! How about that?” Hanzo sighed, standing back up and reaffirming his grip on the rope. “You have to do this McCree. You are right, I cannot go on without you. But on the other side, you visibly cannot leave this plateau without my assistance. You could try on your own, but I am afraid that your lack of poise would inexorably lead to your meeting a terrible fate.”

A dead silence followed his declaration, until Jesse sniffed. “I know I gotta do it.” He muttered, hiding his abashment beneath the worn brim of his hat. “Jus' wish I had some kinda carrot waitin' for me down there. Ya know, encouragement to take my mind off of the height.  
\- Reuniting with the ground and finding that treasure are not enough of a motivation for you?” Hanzo retorted skeptically. He had not pictured McCree to be a greedy man, but he supposed that was human nature after all.  
“The treasure ain't down here. An' while I'd be all too happy to get on ground zero, all I'm gonna think about is jus' how goddamn far the ground is, 'cause I 'll have to look down the entire time.  
-Well then, what do you require?” Hanzo asked unsurely, shifting on his feet. What would get this man going? Alcohol and smokes most certainly, but the archer had neither. Nor money or actual carrots for that matter.

McCree was apparently thinking the same thing, flicking his fingers down as he made some kind of countdown. Then his face slowly lit up, as he seemed to have just discovered a solution to their problem. “Tell ya what… I sure as hell would get down there in a jiffy if I had a peck on the cheek waitin' for me. That would be mighty fine!” He avowed proudly.

Hanzo blinked at him, blown away by what he had just heard. “What?” He blurted instinctively.  
“I think yer wings are cloggin’ yer ears Shimada!” The cowboy sighed deeply. “If I climb down without yer help, well still with ya bein' my lifesaver obviously, I get a peck on the cheek! From ya!  
\- I heard you correctly the first time. But, McCree, _what_?” Hanzo repeated, still too shocked by the absurd request to feel offended. “What are you, a petulant teenager? Is this some kind of crass cowman humor I do not get?   
\- C'mon pardner, I'm totally serious right now! An' it ain't nothin' gross, 's quite innocent really!” McCree bargained. “In my defense, Europeans do it all the time.  
\- I am not European, you sure as hell are not European, and we are definitely not in Europe!” Hanzo hissed, affronted by the ridiculous request and furthermore by the wobbly excuse. He was now very tempted to give Jesse a good shove and let him drop a little before blocking the rope, just to teach the cowboy a good lesson about keeping his outrageous flirting down.

He would never do such a thing though; considering how strongly a small fall had affected McCree, that would be far too cruel of a punishment, if not deadly in case of a weak heart. As the cowboy did not strike him as peculiarly healthy, that was a possibility he could not ignore.  
On the other hand, this embarrassing and foolish request was quite restrained compared to the spirit of McCree's innuendos. Freshly after meeting the cowboy, the archer had expected the worst from him, only to be proven wrong. Jesse had certainly been rough and rude, detestable in many ways, but not once had he attempted to abuse him, even at his weakest.

Since the man could be as stubborn as a bull when he was set and Hanzo had absolutely nothing else to offer, they were in a dead-end. While a shouting match might change the odds, it would be a complete waste of the energy he needed to support McCree and make his way down.

In the end, it was just a small kiss. It was not going to annihilate his entire being.  
It was nothing he could not handle.  
“Fine.” He complied.  
The cowboy was polite enough not to openly beam, but his sunny grin was difficult not to notice.

–

“Do you ever stop talking?” Hanzo snapped as McCree had been chanting “please don't fall” without skipping a beat for the past five minutes.  
“Nope! Can't help it, I talk when I'm scared.  
\- If you had not looked terrorized the moment you set a foot on that wall, I would have believed that you just love the sound of your own voice.  
\- Doesn't exclude that I do.”

–

Most of the climb was uneventful. Not a walk on the park, but mostly uneventful.  
Until the very last ledge.

Hanzo was lowering McCree down, sleeves rolled up to his biceps to bear the heat of the exercise, when he realized he was giving away too much rope. He barely had enough to keep a margin around his waist. “Do you have a stand already?” He shouted down at McCree.  
“Negative darlin’!” The cowboy yelled back. “The floor’s still pretty far, I need more slack! Why are ya askin'? Gettin' tired already?  
\- No… But I am running out of rope. I cannot give you more without taking risks.  
\- What? Ya mean there’s not enough rope?” A spike of anxiety made Jesse's voice pitch a tad higher mid-sentence. “Ya're kiddin' me right?  
\- I am afraid not. Is there anything you could hold yourself onto?  
\- Nothin’ but the freakin’ wall!” Judging from the loud clunking sound that followed, the cowboy must have punched the wall with his prosthetic arm for emphasis.

Hanzo swallowed. If he failed at managing the cowboy's stress, they may end up in a worse situation very soon. “Stay calm McCree” He replied collectedly, hoping his own stoicalness would keep Jesse from losing his nerves.  
But the cowboy seemed determined to express his panic, to the point he sounded hysterical. “Ya can’t tell me what to do! I'm strung up in the void an' ya want me to stay calm? What the heck are we gonna do now? We're either stuck up here for all eternity-  
\- Jesse McCree, if you do not calm down this instant, I will drop you!” The archer barked sharply. “You want to live? Then cease your yammering and let me think in peace and quiet! Please!”  
A slap would probably have made a stronger effect than the outburst, but it did the trick nonetheless; the cowboy quietened down.  
“… Thank you.”

He could not drop Jesse, that was too high. He could not unwind more of the line, McCree was too heavy to hold onto the rope with just his hands; he would either fail to retain him or get pulled along by the inertia.  
There was only one option left. “I am going to tie the rope around my waist and go down.” He decisively announced.  
Beneath him, Jesse choked on his own saliva and looked up. “Darlin’ ya can't do that! What if I fall an' take ya with me?  
\- Then we will fall together and go to Hell.” Hanzo replied, staring right back at the cowboy. “We do not have a choice McCree. This is my having to jump over a ravine on horseback. Do you understand?”

The cowboy pressed his head against the wall and stayed silent for a solid minute. “How much more do we have left?” He muttered so lowly that Hanzo nearly missed his question.  
“You are at approximately five meters and I am at ten. I will go down progressively to match your pace, so the recoil in case you fall will be subdued enough for me to hold on.  
\- Ya know what sugar? I really don’t like the sound o’ that. I don't like it one bit.  
\- I am aware. Now hold on tight, because I am going to tie the rope around my size and I will not be able to hold you back if you slip right now.”

While Hanzo executed himself as fast as he could, McCree hurriedly recited something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. It made the archer feel all the more guilty for putting the man in such a situation, but he did not regret climbing the broken Plate over going around it.  
Unless they fell; in that case, he would definitely regret that decision.

Once ready, he sat on the edge and looked down at Jesse. “Are you ready? I am moving down.”  
The cowboy turned his gaze up, once again pale. “This ain’t how I wanted ya t’ go down on me.”  
That one would have truthfully earned him a slap in the face, but Hanzo decided to put it on the account of the terror he could see in the hazel eyes.  
Judging from the wince McCree made, he probably regretted saying this out loud. “I'm sorry, that was- I didn't mean to-” He started stuttering, until Hanzo cut his half-assed apology.  
“I am sure you did not.” He quipped, as cool as a thorny cucumber. “It is now mandatory you stay absolutely focused. So, for both our sakes, no more innuendos or staring at my behind!”

–

After much effort and cursing, McCree's boots finally made contact with the ground.  
The cowboy quickly undid the rope and unceremoniously fell on his knees. “Christ on a cracker, I'm alive!” He quasi-chanted, bowing to kiss the dirt.  
At the spectacle, Hanzo raised a critical eyebrow. “I am almost certain you make these expressions up.” He muttered under his breath as he nimbly made his way down.

While relief was a sentiment they shared at this moment, the archer was more pleased about no longer having to haul the man's weight than getting back on firm ground. Even though McCree had managed to decently climb down the last meters on his own, there had been a couple close calls.

Once Hanzo was off the wall, he untied the rope around his hips and dumped it over the kneeling cowboy. “Gather yourself up, we still have a long away to go and we did not go through all that trouble just to waste it kissing the dust.”  
He had already taken several steps away from the wall when McCree hollered. “Hey! Shimada!” The cowboy gestured at him to come back, then pointed at his own cheek. “Aren't ya forgettin' somethin'?” He crooned innocently, his tone sharply contradicting with the teasing sneer stretching his lips.

Hanzo froze; he had been hoping that McCree had either forgotten about the request or been joking around, but that had been naive of him.  
The archer slowly turned back, clenching his teeth when he saw the shark-like grin that Jesse was flashing in his direction. “Are you aware that this is borderline harassment?” He uttered, defensively crossing his arms over his chest.  
McCree's expression softened up, the cowboy raising his hands innocently. “Hey now, ya're the one who agreed, I didn't force yer hand. So come 'ere an' respect yer side of the deal. Please.” He immediately added, courteously taking his hat off.

Hanzo sighed heavily, his fingers nervously clenching the fabric of his sleeves; there was no way around this it seemed.

Reluctant yet set on fulfilling his promise, he strode right up to the cowboy. The man almost took a step back from having the archer coming toward him so rapidly. In his defense, Hanzo probably looked like he was about to punch him.  
Stiff as a board, his arms now alongside his body, Hanzo looked up at McCree. Their height gap was such that his eyes were at the level of the cowboy's scruffy chin. That meant he would have to stand on his toes in order to reach the tanned cheek.  
Jesse swallowed discreetly, unusually quiet. Some of his bravado seemed to have been whisked away by the presence of the archer in his personal space. Perhaps a few awkward seconds of intense staring would make him back down.

But a deal was a deal, and Hanzo was not about to let the other drop out. Forcing the man to live the awkwardness generated by his foolishness was a far better opportunity to teach him a lesson, rather than threatening him with a near-death experience.

Hanzo swallowed, then he stood on the tip of his toes and pressed his lips against McCree's cheekbone.  
Their heads nearly collided and the cowboy's scruffy beard scratched his face, wild locks almost stabbed him in the eyes, the smell of sweat and nicotine coming from the serape overwhelmed his nose, and all he could hear was his own blood pulsating into his ears. This kiss was terrible for almost all of his five senses, and he was definitely not going to try and find out if the taste was also awful.

The archer barely let his lips stay against the man's skin for a mere three seconds, before he drew away and fell back on his heels.

McCree remained stunned for a longer period, a discreet blush darkening his cheeks. Then he suddenly came back to life, eyebrows frowning in disappointment. “What the heck was that? Barely felt nothin'! Can't ya put a lil' more punch to it?” He mockingly protested.  
Hanzo furiously wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Dirt from McCree's face had transferred to his lips. “If you desire more punch, I can shove my fist into your cheek. For free.” He bristled, his entire face heating up in anger and shame. There was not a shred of guilt on McCree's face anymore and that pushed his irritation to the highest level.

The cowboy immediately grinned to defuse the tension. “Nah it's fine, I'm jus' pullin' yer leg. The peck was fine, exactly what I was in for.” He smiled, putting his hat back over his messy hair and tilting it at Hanzo.  
The archer shook his head, silently praying that this episode would never be mentioned once again.

–

Hanzo was still fuming when they set up their camp at the foot of a cornice. At least McCree had been wise not to say a word when the archer had taken a seat several meters away from the fire. But he did act too cheerfully for a man who had just braved his fear and nearly succumbed to it several times.

The archer tried calming down at great length, even going as far as shooting a few arrows into the wall of the plateau. Not only was his aim a little off, but he failed to find peace.  
Perhaps it was because of how fast his heart was going; it had been racing from the moment he kissed Jesse and it would simply not slow down. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that his cheeks were too warm, which was completely absurd with the chilling wind blowing on their camp.  
He should not be so upset over something so meaningless, and yet he could not calm down.  
He had kissed a man. A smelly, scruffy man he did not like one bit.  
But kissing him, just on the cheek, had triggered him in unfamiliar ways. Sensations he had never experienced and was not certain how to interpret, had bloomed into his body and mind. Despite his best efforts, they refused to wither.

He had been so wrong when thinking this would not affect him, and he had certainly failed to imagine the extent of his own reaction.

“Hey uhm, Shimada?” McCree called tentatively. “I understand ya wanna give me the cold shoulder at the moment, but you’ll catch an actual cold if ya stay so far from the fire!”  
Hanzo sighed, massaging his neck. The cowboy was not wrong; apart from his blushing face, he was freezing.  
“Only if you keep the flirting down, it is making me uncomfortable.” He retorted from his spot. “And if you never mention that thing ever again.”  
\- Ya mean the kiss right?” The cowboy hummed laughingly.  
When the archer glared back at him, his chuckle rapidly died down. “Look darl-dammit, Shimada. I'm sorry. As ya noticed, my mouth tends to run when I'm scared. An' I was spooked solid back then.” Jesse winced, rubbing his neck shamefully. “If ya wanna punch me for sayin' what I said an' makin' ya kiss me, ya're free to do that.”

Hanzo looked aside, considering the offer quite seriously. But what was the use of doing that now? The chagrined look on McCree's face had already caused his brewed anger to deflate disgustingly fast.  
He stood, wiping the dust off his pants before he made his way to the fire. The cowboy was tensed, but he made no move to back away; he was serious about his offer.  
“Thank you, but that moment has passed.” The archer muttered, sitting by the fire to warm up. “However, should there be a next time where you cross the line, I will not hesitate from doing so. Consider yourself warned, Jesse McCree.” He added with the hint of a smirk.

“Man, when ya get threatenin' it's kinda… Nah I won't say it. That I'll keep secret.” Jesse cut himself off, attempting to hide a smile behind his hands. “Yer warnin' 's duly noted. But jus' sayin', if ya ever feel like kissin' instead of punchin', ya don't gotta wait for a moment. Ain't flirtin', I'm jus' sayin'!”

–

“Such a cunning character. One minute he is enjoyable, the other absolutely insufferable. I might as well add conning; he plays the fool well, but he is much smarter than he lets on.  
I must say I was bluffed, because I did firmly believe my first impression to be correct. One might say my judgement was clouded by my profound dislike for Westerns… Which I still dislike, but I did revise my opinion on Jesse McCree at least.

Now it is only a matter of time before I backhand the fool if he dares mention that stupid kiss one more time. I still cannot believe I let him put me up to this, that I actually did keep my promise and that it affected me so much. Even now as I am writing this, I still feel flustered. How foolish!  
He certainly is very open and physical. I thought at first that it was all about diminishing me or teasing me, but it might just be sincere.  
Whether this is actually genuine or not, it still remains overwhelming. I do know on which grounds I stand, but find myself helpless when confronting this ambivalent, lurid behavior. Sometimes I believe he says things just to rile me up, because he does enjoy 'pulling my leg'. And yet this request was surprisingly restrained compared to his numerous suggestions.  
And somehow that kiss is so much more destabilizing. It has caused quite a stir within me and I am still not appeased, like a pond perturbed by an endless ripple.

I suppose one would be just as disturbed as I am if they had been taught to strictly abide by the rules and always do as been told, in lieu of following vain passions and passing sentiments. Not to mention that anyone aware of what the Shimada name stands for, even just a shred of it, would never dare conduct themselves so carelessly and disgracefully in my presence.  
Until now I believed I was being righteous and reasonable not to pursue any sort of involvement, whether it is platonic, romantic or whatever it is that the cowboy is offering.

Even now that the clan is no more, I still carry the burden of what my name meant. It is a part of me I wish I could get rid of, but it is my heritage and the foundation of my being.  
I do wonder how my life and Genji's would have been, had our parents been simple citizens.  
Certainly not what it is today; I would not have had the fixation on keeping the two of us above poverty, thus I would never have pushed myself so far that I fell and dragged Genji down with me.”

Hanzo sighed softly, saving the document and closing his laptop. He pressed his palms against his eyes and stayed still for a long time.  
The writer could not help but think about Genji once again. The subjects that did not lead back to his little brother one way or another were awfully rare, and he tended to easily bring his brother back whenever his approximate peace of mind was destabilized.  
In this situation, it was simply dealing with eccentric people. Genji had frequented all kinds of crowds, he would have probably known what to do facing a flirting cowboy. Unlike him, socially awkward at best and depressed to the point his own neighbors avoided him like the plague.  
Then again, it might have been because his dark thoughts showed on his tired face and tended to give him a murderous look.

He moved his hands to his cheeks; they were still hot despite the coolness of his room, so he supposed the blush was still there. After waking up flustered, writing that dream down had done nothing to soothe his mind. It even had quite the opposite effect.  
A bitter taste lingered in his mouth and he stood from the futon. Good thing he had almost finished his next poem (the tale of an epic fight between a brave horse and cowardly coyotes), because he was not going to be productive at all today. Not in that strange state of both sluggish sadness and hectic embarrassment.

After fixing himself a mug of tea, he sat in the living room and gazed at the photos decorating the barren walls of his flat. Grief slowly overcame trepidation as his eyes lingered on the frozen smiles, like a cold tide surging over hot sand.  
He wished he could look away, but his eyes did not obey. He missed Genji so much, more than ever this year. Visiting him once per month was not doing it for him anymore, maybe he needed to revise his schedule.

His little brother used to annoy him to end, just to get his attention whenever he worked for too long or too much. That had been pretty much every single day after Hanzo's first best-seller; outside of their trips, he had rarely given Genji any of his time. Even though they had lived under the same roof.  
Whereas he had strived in his work, the writer had neglected their relationship and let it grow sour.

After the accident, Hanzo had given so much, almost the entirety of what he had for Genji's sake. But it was far too late, and he could not actively do anything to pull his little brother out of the persistent coma.

_“Anija?”_

As he felt about to give under another panic attack, the writer grabbed a piece of paper.  
The words came to him almost too easily; he wrote them all down mindlessly and carelessly of any logical order. Once he was certain that the crisis had been aborted, he arranged the mess into a more organized, lyrical text. The end result was, as he feared, depressing:

“Why you, why the innocent sparrow unsoiled by the blood of my sins?  
Why not me, who remains stained after shedding so many of my skins?  
For it was I, who carried out dark schemes,  
While you sought a freedom all too denied,  
For it is I, who now lives within dreams,  
While you remain forever trapped inside,  
This pure, harmless soul was the wrong brother to take,  
This one was the sparrow, I the poisonous snake.  
May the winds carry my wish to a godly ear,  
May they hear and with an iron hand strike me here,  
So that an end is put to this shallow living,  
So that you may awake, alive and forgiving,  
For the one that failed you, yet cherished you so,  
For the one who drowned in perpetual woe.  
Forgive me dear brother, forgive me so  
Forget me not, wherever I shall go.”

He could not bring this to his editors. Gabriel would slap him in the face if he showed up with this “Baudelaire's spiral of despair” material. Especially now that he had submitted less darker-themed compositions.  
He still preciously stored the poem away with the nearly finished draft. Should he suffer a week too rough to write anything whatsoever, that counted as a backup submission.

Feeling slightly less worse, Hanzo made more tea and returned to his computer to check his emails. He was curious to find out whether the mysterious fan had replied or not. He was not certain which possibility was the best.

They had though, and their answer had far less misspells than the first mail:

“ _Dear mister Shimada,_

_I have taken notes of your recommendations and will most definitely read the sequels. Funny thing is that I first crunched my nose upon the relationship depicted between the main characters. I couldn't believe that two people could stand living together with so much hatred between them. But that was pretty naive of me. I just finished reading the book a second time and I am starting to get these two a lot better._

_Don't apologize for taking your time! I totally understand and I'm sure other fans like me do.  
I promise you I will not disclose this address to anyone. It was wrong of me to seek it out in the first place, but I really wanted to contact you. I'm sorry if that bothered you, it was never my attention to upset you._

_Best regards,  
A fan._

_PS: You probably guessed by now, but I have followed your suggestion. It shows right?  
I still have a long way to go, but this is pretty helpful already. Thanks a lot!  
Best regards,  
An improved fan._”

A small chuckle escaped Hanzo's mouth at the post-scriptum. He knew better than trusting someone through a written text, but this person seemed to be actually decent.  
He pondered on replying for a minute, but found himself out of words; he was not sure what so say, and there was nothing indicating that the fan actually expected an answer.  
He was not proud that strangers got concerned about his wellbeing to the point one had gone at such length to contact him, nonetheless the message warmed his heart by a tiny amount.

Since he still did not feel like finishing his poem for next week, he spent the day watching Westerns with the sole purpose of understanding what exactly went on inside Jesse McCree's head.


	17. The Pig and the Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have a couple guest stars in this chapter, can you guess who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ
> 
> A gazillion thanks to y'all for the kudos and the kind comments! I'm just overwhelmed by how many people like my weird AU. So again, thank youuuu~ ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑)૭✧
> 
>  **Little announcement:** taking two weeks to really redo this chapter made me realize that it would be preferable that I keep going with that schedule. It will sadly make you guys wait a little longer and I'm sorry about that, but I will need that time for the next chapters that are not as clear as the first were in my head uvu;  
>  Of course I will upload doodles on my tumblr to make up for the wait (｡◕‿◕｡)
> 
>  
> 
> [Speaking of doodles, here is the big stack I made for the chapter! Hope y'all like them along with this new chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/161976572736/lucid-dream-a-wild-chapter-has-appeared-howdy)

As Hanzo and McCree approached the forest border, the archer found its name more and more dubious by the second.  
When first gazing upon the woods from the top of the broken Plate, he had thought they looked inviting, like a breath of fresh air after the dry outback. But from a closer point of view, they were far less welcoming and more sinister; there was hardly any light filtering through the dense foliage, and a faint, pervasive fog lingered among the trees.

Hesitant, Hanzo turned to McCree. “I am sure you meant well when you named these woods, but tranquility is truly the last thing this place inspires me. In fact, dread and uncertainty come first in mind.” He pointed out while gesturing at the foggy forest border. “Did you really look at this and thought 'tranquility' was the proper word to describe the sheer lack of serenity? I agree it seems pretty quiet, but not in a way I would deem comforting.  
\- T'be fair, these woods didn't look like that at all when I discovered 'em.” The cowboy replied, looking a little put-off by the ominous place. “Must have taken a turn for the worse while I was busy chasin' folks. I haven't been here in like… A couple years I'd say? Maybe longer, I ain’t sure.  
\- I see.” The archer sighed. He hoped his first impression on this forest would end up being proven wrong, just like the one he had had on Jesse McCree.

He took a first step toward the woods and nearly tripped over something; he looked down and found a decrepit board sitting on the ground, almost completely hidden by the wild grass growing all around.  
“What is this? A panel?” Hanzo knelt to uncover the item, McCree joining him to scrap the dirt off.  
The board was severely damaged, eaten away by mold and bugs. There was an inscription on it, but it resembled chicken scratches and the state of the panel made it all the more difficult to read.  
Yet, with the help of the sunlight, Hanzo's patience and the cowboy's suggestions, they were able to decipher it:

“Forest of… being eaten alive by trees?” The archer whispered lowly, utterly confused. Was he misreading this?

He searched for other markings, but found nothing. 'Forest of being eaten alive by trees' was truly the one and only message chiseled on that board.  
Hanzo exchanged a disbelieving glance with McCree, who just shrugged in response. “I totally came up with that too… Nah don't look at me like that, I'm just pullin' yer leg.” He admitted when the archer's unimpressed gaze became too much to bear. “I didn't do that. Someone must have thought it'd be funnier, or possibly more accurate to call it that, an' took the trouble of makin' that rickety sign. They obviously didn't do a good job at it.  
\- I cannot say I approve their sense of humor, but I must agree with them; it is a more fitting name.” Hanzo huffed. Then a though occurred to him and he sobered up. “McCree, this may sound extremely silly, but are there actual carnivorous trees in here? Or do you also dodge this entire forest when you have to get across?”

Jesse paused for a moment, a closed expression on his face. “I actually went through 'em on foot several times an' all by myself. So yeah, I can guarantee ya there's totally a bunch o' carnivorous trees on high-con diet. So, ya better stick real close t'me Shimada.” He added warningly, squinting at the archer.  
However Hanzo did not take the bait. “You are pulling my leg again, aren't you.” He scoffed, raising a critical eyebrow at the vaguely serious man.  
Jesse's frown immediately broke into a smile. “Yep.” He hooted triumphantly before a sharp elbow kicked him in the ribs.

While the cowboy lost his balance and wallowed in the wet grass, Hanzo threw the board aside and stood up. “Rather than wasting our time on more nonsense, we should brave this unwelcoming forest, whether it is actually tranquil or not.  
\- Well we should be fine as long as ya follow me an’ stay real careful.” McCree groaned as he awkwardly got back up on his feet; climbing seemed to have left him a few cramps to deal with. “If we’re lucky, we might stumble onto a friend o' mine who lives in 'ere.  
\- Ah? How intriguing.” The archer retorted, waiting for the cowboy to catch up on him. “I do not know what surprises me the most. Someone living in this unwelcoming place, or the lonesome cowman having a friend.  
\- Laugh all ya want, ya're jus' jealous that I'm more popular than ya.” Jesse smirked, swaggering past Hanzo. “An' by popular, I don't mean most wanted!  
\- Far from me the idea of vying with you for popularity.” Hanzo scoffed loudly. He waited until Jesse was far enough before he grumbled under his breath: “I am just a modest author with several best-sellers and awards on my behalf.”

–

If the outback had been hot and dry most of the time, the forest was the complete opposite; it was cold and humid, the fresh morning dew soaking up their shoes. While the soles of Hanzo's jika-tabi were waterproof, the rest sadly was not and he caught himself wishing he could have McCree's tacky boots.

“I had only heard bad things 'bout these woods before I explored them myself.” The cowboy muttered as he cautiously stepped over a fallen oak tree. “But they weren't as bad as the stories made it sound, they even used t' be pretty nice. T'is why I called them woods 'Forest of tranquility'.” He paused and turned to lend Hanzo a helpful hand. But the archer took no notice of his offer and agilely cleared the obstacle.  
McCree's hand fell, but he continued as if he had not been ignored. “Now I ain’t sure why it went so awry, I wasn't around when it happened. Sure I did spot some weird stuff last time I came by; all kinds of bad weeds had popped up all over the place, with shrooms an' parasite plants, like nature had suddenly gone to war against itself. Nothin' died as far as I know an' the trees are still here o' course. But now it's all like… Twisted.”

Hanzo could not agree more. There was something awfully eerie about these woods, something distorted; the dense foliage of the immense trees almost entirely blocked the sun rays, making the forest quite dark and cold. Moss, branches, mold and dead leaves blanketed absolutely everything, and the constant humidity made it all rot away in the mud. There was a pungent odor of vegetation putrefaction, aggravated by the stagnating dampness of the woods; the resulting vitiated air was barely breathable.  
As they dreaded in the forest , the archer soon noticed the complete absence of wildlife; there were no traces whatsoever on the ground, nor any sound but the soft rustling of wind through leaves. Bugs were present, some buzzing by Hanzo's ears and nearly slamming into his face every now and then. Yet he had neither seen nor heard a single bird.

“Watch yer footin', the ground can get real slippery an' tricky. Under all that mush, there are hidden dips an' pits.” McCree grunted, chewing the end of his cigar. “Everythin' on the floor rots away, ain't no one to eat it fast enough. Used to be real lively before, now the only things that makes this place more populated than the desert are bugs an' a few reptiles.  
\- What happened to the animals? If there were any in the first place.  
\- Dunno what, but somethin' made them flee for sure. They could be hiddin' from us of course, but they would've left some prints behind.” He thoughtfully looked around as he smoked, tapping the ashes over the wet ground. “I never accoutered a single carnivorous tree in my life, but I'm startin' to believe there might be one now.  
\- Ah, you will not fool me this time.” Hanzo sighed, reeling in disgust at the squishy feeling beneath his heels. “If there is something doing any eating here, it is mold and bugs.”

They walked in almost complete silence, the lack of wildlife progressively enervating Hanzo. Usually the absence of noise meant that there was danger nearby or that something was afoot, and that made him irremediably on guard.  
The archer kept a watchful eye at their surroundings, but any predator would manage to evade his sight with the dim light and numerous hiding spots.

Moreover, McCree's whistling did not help him unwind. It was certainly laudable if the cowboy's intention was to brighten up the mood, but Hanzo found it absolutely peeving. “Stop it.” He snapped as he was going over a tall, moss-covered rock.  
Jesse halted, looking mildly surprised. “Beg yer pardon?  
\- Your whistling. It is annoying and it will get us spotted within seconds, should anything or anyone be lurking nearby.”  
The cowboy chuckled to himself, taking a long drag from his cigar. “Ain't ya lucky to be so pretty.” He finally said, smirking up at the archer.  
Hanzo frowned. He thought he had made his point clear about flirting the day before. “What does my face have to do with anything?” He cautiously asked.  
Jesse winked, a spark of defiance gleaming in his eyes. “Kinda keeps me from sockin' ya at tryin' times. Not that I’d hit ya too hard o’ course, jus' a little friendly punch. Easily tradable for a kiss instead.”

Hanzo tensed up, ready to leash out of the cowboy when a big clump of moss tore beneath his shoes. It detached, making him lose his footing. McCree instinctively rushed forward and caught the archer in his opened arms.  
Hanzo abruptly found himself nose to nose with Jesse's face. He was frozen on the spot, upper limbs trapped against the cowboy's chest armor and feet awkwardly swaying a few centimeters above the grass. Their faces were so close, he could practically count the freckles spotting the tanned cheeks.

All Jesse did was glaring at him with wide eyes. Both men barely dared breathing.  
“T-Thank you. For catching me.” Hanzo finally whizzed. “Could you put me down now? Please?” He was overly aware of the strong arms surrounding his waist and unable to stand this any longer. After yesterday, he feared getting overly flustered once again. Regulating his breathing kept his heartbeat from increasing, but he could not prevent the blood from flowing to his cheeks.  
McCree thankfully snapped out of his contemplation and gently eased Hanzo down. Then he turned around without a word and resumed walking, perkily humming instead of whistling.  
Not exactly what the archer was hoping for in the first place, but he was not going to protest; that was much more agreeable to listen to, and the last thing he wanted after this very uncomfortable moment was another quarrel.

–

The word 'war' previously used by McCree to describe the state of the forest ended up being abundantly accurate as they ventured into its depths.  
There were invasive plants everywhere, more than Hanzo could list. Moss, ivy, common ragweed, woodbine, sweet pea, American cancer-root, santalum, kudzu and Japanese knotweed; there were the few he could identify thanks to Genji's botany phase, all the rest was lost to him.  
To add to the spectacular invasion, there was a wide variety of mushrooms scattered around, with all kinds of shapes and colors. While the archer knew too little about mycology to identify any of the fungi, he was almost certain that the red amanitas dotted with white were not edible.  
The same could be said about the swollen mushrooms the size of a basketball, which Jesse had told him they might just explode if he touched them. While it could be another farcical attempt to fool him, he decided upon contemplation to heed the warning.  
Each species had its own territory, and there was no doubt every single one of them furiously battled to win over the others. Even the small streams and water puddles were invaded too, either with water hyacinth, water lens or toothwort.

All of this made Hanzo's skin crawl and he had to display a great deal of self-restraint not to openly shiver. He felt somehow tainted for having stepped in this diseased forest.  
“God damn.” McCree whispered as he narrowly dodged a tree covered with poisonous ivy. “This is a fuckin' green massacre if I ever saw one. How could this happen?”  
Most of the archer's attention was mobilized on minding his feet and avoiding contact with practically everything, but the genuine alarm in the cowboy's voice reached him. “These species did not appear out of nowhere.” He replied, carefully avoiding an impressive bush of nettles. “Are you certain the woods were healthful when you first came?”  
\- To be fair I didn't scout every single hectare, but I don't recall seein' so much shit! 'Specially all these shrooms, that I'm sure.” He grumbled, smashing an excessively large bracket fungus from a dead maple.

While the upset cowboy engaged in mushroom massacre, Hanzo pondered on the meaning of this place.  
Considering how the land made no sense on climatical and geographical levels, he was starting to see a deeper meaning hidden behind these locations. Even though he had clearly testified in his compendium (he had not yet found a name for the document and calling it a dream journal was simply beyond him) that he despised dream interpretation, the interrogation remained there, unanswered and insisting.

If he started from the very beginning, the desert could be a metaphor for his writer's block; it was barren, devoid of anything interesting, and deadly.  
McCree's arrival and the entire debacle in Little Bones' Creek could be compared to an idea breaking through that block and turning his head upside-down. Considering he had started writing the morning right after the very first dream, that did not seem too farfetched.

The apparition of the safe with his things inside? Maybe the realization that the writer had to become _the archer_ in order to survive in this imaginary world. If there was something he had carried on from the Shimada legacy, it was archery. He had practiced daily ever since he left Hanamura and the idea of stopping had always been inconceivable to him. Through this dream, he had put the skill back to use. While it was a hobby dear to him, he was not certain this was a good thing.

On the canyons he could not pin a meaning yet, so he dismissed them for now.  
McCree's shack could be assimilated to his current flat; both were cold, small, substandard, and most definitely did not feel homy at all in spite of his efforts to make them habitable.  
He also had nothing for the outback. Maybe some things had no hidden meaning whatsoever and were simply there to connect the dots.  
His wild guess on the broken Plate was that the structure resembled McCree in a way; a discouraging outer barrier hiding secret places that were worth seeing, but only accessible by braving the obstacle with effort and patience. In the case of the plateau, it was escalating to its very top in order to see the lakes it protected. In McCree's, it was getting over the ridiculous cowboy appearance and the rough edges to see the complex personality hidden beneath and getting to know him.  
Jesse himself could be something insightful about Hanzo himself, but he dared not delve into him right now. The last thing he needed whenever McCree got flirty was to think of him as a fantasy, manifestation of his repressed sexuality or something alike. That would be plainly embarrassing.

The forest however, something once healthy, lively and pure now corrupted, empty of its inhabitants and full of parasites that thrived on its lifeblood, was a bit of a conundrum. What could it possibly be? A mind obscured with dark thoughts? A child's pure soul slowly polluted by the harsh, cruel reality of the world? A sane body now riddled with sickness? Innocence tarnished by crimes and guilt? All of them or none of them?

Hanzo was so absorbed in his reflexion that he almost bumped into McCree; the cowboy had frozen before him, his gaze fixed on the ground before them.

The archer stopped too, about to ask what was wrong when Jesse signed at him not to make a sound. Then the cowboy picked up a branch and threw it onto a harmless-looking carpet of dead leaves.  
Metal jaws suddenly snapped up, the branch caught between the teeth snapping with a sickening crack. The contraption was a bear-trap, large enough to catch a man by the knee. And judging by the state of the metal, it had served often.

“We ain't alone.” McCree growled lowly. He swiftly pulled Peacekeeper out of his holster, while Hanzo immediately dropped his sleeve, reached for his bow and notched an arrow. They stood back to back, eyes darting around and searching for the slightest speck of color among the many shades of green.  
From a distance, they could hear a very discreet shuffling, too faint to pinpoint the exact direction it came from. Then it stopped, Hanzo hearing nothing but the wind in the trees and the bugs.

Suddenly a metallic sound broke the silence, followed by a startled noise coming from McCree. Hanzo swirled around, just to get a glimpse of a chain wound around the cowboy's prosthetic arm.  
Then Jesse was abruptly torn away from his spot by a considerable strength, disappearing before Hanzo could make a move.  
The archer instinctively ducked down among twigs and leaves, nearly missing the thumps followed with muffled groans of pain whenever McCree slammed into a tree. They got further and further away, until they simply stopped.

Hanzo slowly took a sneak peek from a bush, scrutinizing the woods before him. He had absolutely no idea how many assailants were out here and how heavily armed they were.

The only certainty he had was that they had Jesse, and he had to get him back right now.  
Not just because McCree was his guide, without whom he would never find the treasure. The cowboy, as scruffy, frustrating, flirty and uprightly annoying as he could be, had saved Hanzo more than once and tolerated his difficult mood.  
He was not just an acquaintance to put up with for one journey, he was his partner.

The distant sound of a loud laughter and footsteps echoed from afar and he jumped to his feet. People were coming his way; at least two individuals, with a cussing man that the archer immediately recognized as McCree.  
He did not have much time to act; fleeing was putting the cowboy at risk, so was a frontal assault.  
Holding the arrow between his teeth, Hanzo threw the bow on his back and hastily climbed up an ancient oak. He was going to hide in the foliage in order to assess the threat and act accordingly.

Once he found a branch sturdy enough to use as a perch, he settled there, arrow notched onto his bow but string only slightly taut for the time being; pulling it back entirely right now would be a waste of energy.

The laughing got closer and closer, until three men emerged from the bushes.  
One of them was a crooked, thin twig of a person with a good portion of his face covered with soot, and blond hair that seemed to be fuming; smoke definitely came from the tip of his locks, dissipating into the wind.  
Hanzo could only imagine that this accoutrement was purely intentional, and that made the lanky man all the more unsettling.  
The second was a tall, impressively corpulent man with a large tattoo covering most of his belly. Hanzo first thought he had a pig face, but it turned out to be a leather mask shaped like a snout.  
Jesse was being dragged along by that masked person, struggling against the big hand wrapped around his neck. The other maintaining a firm grip over a chain coiled around his prosthetic arm, that same chain ended with a threatening grappling hook.  
So that was what had swooped McCree away so brutally.

The archer was so enraptured by the men's appearances that he almost jumped when the crooked man started talking to McCree. His voice was grating to tell the least, and an impossible accent twisted his words:  
“It's been ages since we last saw each other, right scruffy bastard?” The blond grinned, staring at the cowboy with wide, wild eyes.  
Jesse seemed unharmed for the most part, his face slightly bruised. However the hand holding onto his neck looked strong enough to snap it on a whim. “An' who might the two of ya be?” He muttered nonchalantly, still trying to twist out of the larger man's grip. “Ya seem familiar. I guess that ain't from killin' ya, since ya both ain't dead an' all.”

The blond man faked a hurt expression while the masked man kept his hold on McCree. “Oh but we do know each other, it's just been a long time since we departed! When was that again?” He tapped his pointy nose, Hanzo now noticing that the man had both a prosthetic arm and a peg leg. They looked nothing like McCree's, rust-colored and seeming of a poor quality.  
“Oh yeah right, now I know. Last time we saw each other was on that train, remember? We had a blue because you didn't want to make the train blow up like we had plann'd in the first place.” He spat, tone abruptly shifting from friendly to murderous. “Then you bail'd out on us and left with all the cash while we got arrest'd, you bloody backstabbing dipstick!”  
McCree faintly flinched when the twig spat out his poison at him, but he stayed collected. “There were innocent folks on that train, derailin’ it would’ve caused useless casualties. An' ya got caught 'cause the both of ya are 'bout as smart as a buncha nails an' subtle like a brick through the freakin' window. I had nothin' to do with yer arrest.”

From his perch, Hanzo had heard every word of the exchange. And his deductions were so far very unpleasant. These two weird men were obviously criminals, whom McCree had once joined to commit armed robbery on a train. And the cowboy had apparently betrayed them.  
'Youthful, horrible errors'. That was the wording McCree had used to describe his past crimes. Hanzo dearly hoped that deception also belonged to the cowboy's past.

“Well, while we were rotting away in jail, we heard you became a Sheriff's dog and, quotation marks, _redeem'd yourself_.” The fuming man continued. Then his mouth twisted into a sneer. “Till you got in trouble in Woop Woop or whatever that hole of a town's call'd.  
\- Ya mean Li'l Bones' Creek? Oh, 's all a simple misunderstandin' really. No biggie.” McCree shrugged awkwardly.  
The big man holding him grunted something completely unintelligible, his voice entirely muffled by his mask. Hanzo was not even certain that the man had used actual words. So was McCree, judging by his expression.  
“As he said, a sixty million dollars misunderstanding we heard.” The blond translated, his smirk getting wider. “With that handsome price on your mug, we won't ever have to work again!”

'Criminals acting as bounty hunters, hunting after an ex-criminal ex-bounty hunter cowboy. Life truly is a circle of caustic irony,' Hanzo thought while he slowly reached for two more arrows. He was not planning on attacking yet, it was just in case he needed to act quickly.  
“Thought ya two didn't go for easy money.” Jesse huffed, keeping his chin up in obdurate defiance.   
“Hey. We've work'd all our lives and we haven't got a brass razoo at the moment.” The thin bandit replied without a shred of shame. “We deserve that sweet money, and a long vacation for starters. Right mate?”  
The pig man groaned approvingly in response. Or at least that was what it sounded like to Hanzo.

From the archer's point of view, McCree's face was partially obscured by his hat. But it was not difficult to imagine how the cowboy looked, as he kept on displaying bravado. “That's nice an' all, but I still don't remember yer names. Would ya be so kind as to remind me, so I can note ‘em on my bullets?  
\- I should be offend'd, but I'm not surpris'd from a drongo like you.” The blond scoffed, before he took a heroic pose. Though Hanzo was not certain if it was supposed to be heroic, for it looked like the blond had just sprung his back.  
“Why I present you the mighty Junkrat, and his partner in cri-justice, I mean justice, Roadhog the Brave!”  
A grunt came from the masked man, definitely sounding annoyed. “It's not cheesy mate, it's awesome!” Junkrat quipped, kicking the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. But another groan and a pat on the back rapidly appeased him. “Alright, alright. I'm Junkrat and he's just Roadhog.  
\- Oh yeah, that's right.” Jesse nodded, a strained grin stretching his bleeding lip. “The li’l rat an' the fat pig. Can't say I missed ya.”  
It earned him a nasty blow to the side from Roadhog, the cowboy curling on himself and coughing. Hanzo winced; if that man had managed to singly-handedly pull McCree across a long distance earlier, his punches were most likely devastating.

“Watch your mouth mate. You don't call Roady fat, only I can do it!!” Junkrat yelled, waving a bear-trap dangerously close to Jesse's face in a parody of a puppet. The cowboy did not say a word, heavily breathing through his nose.  
In retaliation, the blond scavenged his pockets, even pulling Peacekeeper out of its holster. McCree violently trashed when he took the gun, but that only made Roadhog tighten his grip on him.  
When the blond stepped away with a piece of paper, Hanzo briefly feared that it was the map. But the cylinder was still safely tucked under his Obi.

When Junkrat unfolded the paper, it revealed itself to be the archer's Wanted poster. “Now who's that spunk? A new face in town?” The fiery bandit beamed, holding the paper up so his taller associate could get a look too. Then he snatched the poster back, peering at the paper. “Why is there no price on that bloke's head?”  
He looked up at McCree, who just shrugged and smirked from beneath his hat. “To tell ya the truth, that guy's a priceless man.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes, although he felt his ears burn at the poor yet flattering pun. As for Junkrat, he openly stared at Jesse, then back at the poster. “Oh really? How would you know?” He pressed on with a crooked smile.  
The cowboy maintained eye contact, his smile turning wolfish. “Caught him once. Pretty like his picture, but real piece o’ work. One prickly desert rose I tell ya. Now he's on the loose like me, an' he ain't very far from here.” The way Jesse looked around as he spoke made Hanzo wonder if he had an actual idea of his whereabouts.

The archer did not have many choices of action. Moving from his perch would cause enough noise to be spotted in the near-silent woods. But he could not simply wait and see; now that the criminals had Jesse's gun, nothing kept them from actually killing him right here and now. It did say 'Dead or Alive' on the cowboy's poster.  
Shooting to kill was the best course of action, but Hanzo still had a promise to honor.  
He had no other choice but to make an appearance and change the odds of McCree's survival. 

Below, Junkrat let out a thunderous, high-pitched laughter. “Bah! He won't make it versus me and Roady! I bet he scamper'd off like a wuss. And I bet he's not that pretty either.”  
Hanzo was not sure what ticked him off the most; the hyena-like laughing or the assumption he would cowardly run away because of two mere bandits.  
“Before making brash statements, one should see for themselves.” He spoke out-loud before standing up on the branch.

The two hunters jerked, looking up until they found the archer. McCree did too, his face enlightening when his eyes met Hanzo's.  
Wrapping a meaty arm around the cowboy to keep him still, Roadhog reached for something behind his back and threw it in the archer's direction. A second grappling hook attached to a chain went flying toward him at incredible speed.  
Having expected to be met with hostilities, Hanzo dodged the hook by simply stepping aside. While the chain ran out, the momentum did not; the grapple with the chain following wound up onto the branch several times, until it dug deeply inside the bark.  
The tree limb menacingly cracked when Roadhog pulled on the chain, but it did not break and the hook did not budge; the bandit's weapon was now stuck and his other one was currently restraining the cowboy.

Junkrat, who's eyes had gone comically wide at the sight of the archer, broke out of his stupefaction and brandished Peacekeeper to aim at Hanzo. The archer barely had the time to duck behind the tree trunk before six shots were fired.  
All of them missed by a large margin, either biting into the bark or getting lost in the foliage. Empty clicks followed, until Junkrat realized the gun had no bullets left.  
With a furious huff, he shoved the gun beneath his belt and reached for a strange contraption strapped on his back. As he brandished it with a maniacal laughter, Hanzo realized it was a handmade flamethrower and that the chances of avoiding this were far thinner than dodging a big hook.  
Even if he stayed behind the tree, he would eventually burn with it. And making his way to another tree would be hard with a continuous stream of flames attacking from all sides.

But the flames never came. Before Junkrat could attempt to roast the archer, Roadhog and McCree both shouted in alarm, the first raising a hand to stop his companion. “What? I was only going to cook him a bit, he'd still be recognizable!” Junkrat snapped back, keeping on aiming at Hanzo's hiding spot.  
Again the masked man's speech was completely unintelligible, but McCree spoke at the same time. “If ya set this place on fire, we'll all fry along ya freakin' dumbass!  
\- How about a little explosion then? That'd be a blast!  
\- Same result ya moron, an' the trees will get damaged! Do ya know what happens when ya kill the trees?  
\- Oh come on, these are just legends! Don't tell me you all believe this pork pie!”  
The masked man and the cowboy intensely stared at Junkrat, who's wild grin slowly got watered down. “You stupid mugs.” The blond bandit grumbled, reluctantly putting the contraption away.

Taking advantage of the strange conversation, Hanzo jumped down, catching himself on a branch before landing onto a large nest of roots. Without wasting a second, he pulled the string of the bow with all three arrows. There was no room for uncertainty, or else these two bandits would have their hides. “One is for you, the two other for your imposing friend if you do not free the cowman this instant.” The archer claimed with all the assurance he could muster.

“Would you take a squizz at this show pony!” Junkrat grinned widely, throwing another look at the poster. “Why, it's actually the priceless man himself! Ha-Han- I'm not sure what I'm reading here, I just see the numbers usually.” He double-checked the paper, frowning. “Hanse-how do you even say that? Handso Sh'moida?  
\- Hanzo Shimada. Mispronounce my name again and I shall kill you right where you stand.” The archer sneered, pulling the arrows back further to prove his point.

The blond's stance subtly sagged, but his overly confident grin did not falter. “Well then mister priceless, how about you surrender now, and we won't kill your cowboy?  
\- Ah, but you would be doing me a favor and sparing me from wasting an arrow should you kill him. Releasing him alive would also provide me much pleasure, for I have matters to settle with this man.” Hanzo replied nonchalantly. He hoped to outsmart the two without actually injuring anyone. While his aim was perfect, he was facing two unpredictable opponents; Roadhog looked robust enough to survive two arrows and snap the cowboy in half, if he did not use him as a shield in the first place. As for Junkrat, his jittery behavior made him quite the extreme variable.  
“However, that could turn up to be a bother, should he decide to team up with you in order to get back at me.” The archer added carefully.

“Hey now, we don't want no backstabbing wuss on our team!” Junkrat replied, his partner groaning in agreement. “You said it Hog! If we'd release him, you'd get him back for sure-  
\- Why don't we all jus' start a bonfire an' chill,” McCree cut on a very amiable tone that quickly turned hostile, “though we won't need the actual fire cause yer hot head will do when I smash it into a tree!” He spat at Junkrat, trying to kick his behind.  
“Don't ya dare talk about fire you Drongo! Why did we even hide in this stupid place, I can't even light a match without getting yell'd at,” The blond snapped back at the cowboy then Roadhog who just shook his head like a parent dealing with a .

Hanzo shot Jesse a quick glare, the man responding with a discreet wink; visibly he had understood the archer's tactic, so why was he trying to jeopardize his efforts? Probably to make the two bandits too agitated to think, but this standoff was going to turn sour very fast at this rate.  
“Well, if you do not want the cowman anywhere near you, I would be happy to take him off your hands.” He swiftly proposed as Junkrat was about to club McCree with his own gun.

That had the desired effect of distracting the angry firecracker, but also the risk of being the receiving end of his ire. “And why should we believe your revenge story? We aren't going to give up some sixty million dollars to some nuddy Robin Hood just because he asked nicely!  
\- This man dragged my dying body through an entire desert and nearly had me hanged. I rightly deserve to take his life.” Hanzo bit back authoritatively. “The price on his head matters not to me. You can have his corpse once I am done with him.”

A heavy silence settled over the small clearing. The two bandits exchanged a glance then engaged into a hushed conversation. As for McCree, he stared straight on at Hanzo; Roadhog's hand now covered his mouth, probably to prevent him from riling Junkrat furthermore.  
He maintained the eye contact for several seconds, then averted his eyes toward the ground insistently. Intrigued, the archer discreetly followed his gaze.  
Three swollen mushrooms were in the middle of the clearing, one practically the size of a watermelon. Their milky white color and purple dots could not possibly mean anything good.  
Hanzo looked back up at McCree, who met his eyes again and nodded.

Then the cowboy suddenly swung his leg, hitting Junkrat square in the stomach. As the slender bandit collapsed in the grass, Jesse bit hard onto Roadhog's fingers. “Hanzo they're talkin' 'bout killin' ya!” He yelled as soon as the large hand withdrew. “They wanna kill ya after m-!”  
Roadhog abruptly interrupted him by violently ramming his fist into McCree's side. The cowboy jerked at the strength of the blow, a mixture of saliva and blood trickling from his mouth.

Without a second thought, Hanzo adjusted his aim and released the three arrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I left on a cliffhanger ( ᐛ
> 
> Since I could not portray an Australian accent for shit, I searched for slang words and boy did I find some jewels! [This was my source and it's honestly worth the tour.](http://www.koalanet.com.au/australian-slang.html#W)  
> Dunno if I have any Australians among my readers, but do let me know if I misused these expressions.


	18. The Disgraceful Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo's day in the woods keeps getting longer and longer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there y'all ʕ❀◕ᴥ◕ʔ/) how's it going?  
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments. When I say they fuel me, I mean literally.
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's the bunch of doodles I made to go for the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/162520691611/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-hey-there)
> 
>  
> 
> Here's the new chapter, I hope y'all will enjoy it (●´∀｀●)

On any other day, the Forest of being eaten alive by trees would have been left to rot in its decaying peace, slowly eaten by the mush and parasites inhabiting it.  
But today a little core of mayhem erupted within its dark heart. A tense moment rapidly evolving into complete havoc.

As soon as the tips of Hanzo’s arrows met their marks, all three mushrooms burst with an ear-splitting bang. Each one released massive clouds of spores, smoking out the entire clearing in a matter of seconds.  
The resulting fog was dense, yet Hanzo could make out the silhouettes of Roadhog and his struggling prisoner. Taking advantage of the surprise, McCree had torn himself out of the bandit's loosened grip. He was trying to push him over when the large man tripped over a bulking root and fell on his own, almost taking down the cowboy with him.

Burying his nose and mouth into his arm, Hanzo rushed toward them. A flailing Junkrat popped out of the fog, nearly bashing into him as he wobbled on his mismatched legs. While dodging the waving arms, the archer unceremoniously shoved the bandit out of the way and rapidly made it to McCree.  
Jesse was struggling to fully free himself, his prosthetic arm still captive of the rusty chain. His tugging was getting desperate, as the bandana covering most of his face was probably not enough to keep him from breathing altogether. In addition to his ordeal, Roadhog had sat up and was now trying to hold him back, preventing McCree from properly unwinding the chain.

Wielding his bow like a blunt weapon, Hanzo clubbed Roadhog in the face. While he had less blunt force swinging with a single arm instead of two, his momentum did the trick; the resulting strength of the hit was enough to make the bandit slump over the ground once again and leave him stunned for a few precious seconds.  
Without wasting a single one, the archer and the cowboy worked together to remove the rusty chain. As soon as the prosthetic arm was free, the two men went fleeing from the foggy clearing. While they could take on the disadvantaged bandits, they were certainly not immune to the potentially deadly spores and the urgent need to breathe.

They ran as fast as they could from the white cloud, their lungs screaming for oxygen. Thankfully a few meters was all the distance they needed to reach a clean atmosphere, their wild dash enough to shake out any spores lodged on their clothes.  
They stopped, Hanzo plainly gasping. He did not care one bit if one mistook his hoarse breathing for the braying of a donkey, all he wanted was to get some fresh air.  
McCree did not sound any better anyway, alternating between panting and coughing so hard that the archer feared he might throw up his lungs. “McCree, are you alright?” He asked once he regained the ability to speak.  
Jesse did not seem injured, but his laborious respiration was getting seriously worrisome and a bit of blood tinkled down the corner of his mouth. He did not seem to be recovering at all. “C-can't breathe right.” He finally stammered breathlessly before his knees threatened to give out.

Hanzo dropped his bow and awkwardly caught McCree, surrounding his chest with his arms as he stumbled. He helped Jesse lie down over a patch of fresh moss, his mind racing as he inspected the wheezing cowboy to find the cause behind his faintness.  
What was wrong with Jesse? Had he inhaled some spores? Were these truly hazardous for the lungs? The cowboy was pale, the slight amount of blood leaking from his mouth standing out all the more on his skin, and his breathing sounded strained. With his heavy smoking, his lungs were probably weakened. Was Jesse going to die right here and now, while Hanzo could do nothing but helplessly watch his demise? They had just evaded death from heinous thugs seconds ago! How could karma hit back so soon?

Just as panic was just about to seize Hanzo by the throat, the answer to his very first question jumped before his eyes.  
It was there, almost hidden beneath the serape; McCree's armor was dented inward on the side. The deformed metal was pressing hard against his side. With the armor being a tight fit, there was barely any room for the cowboy's thoracic cage to properly expend. As a result, he was not getting enough air.

All Hanzo had to do to stop McCree from suffocating ultimately was removing the armor. But as he pulled the serape all the way up, he found himself facing a complex locking system made of clamps and leather belts. And judging from the way the cowboy gagged, Hanzo clearly did not have the time to figure its intriguing mechanism out.

What else could he possibly do?  
His only option was fixing the armor with his bare hands.

Without hesitation, he searched for the edge of the armor. It went beneath the man’s pants, but only by a few centimeters; he would not have to strip McCree in order to save him.  
“What are ya… Not on first date.” Jesse wheezed, barely aware as the archer snuck a hand between his stomach and the metal.  
“Quiet, I'm saving you.” Hanzo snapped back, his face heating up. He was trying hard to stay focused and ignore the warmth of the cowboy's body or the muscles tensing up against his arm. McCree was practically dying, he did not have time to get distracted by this nonsense.

The gap between the protection and McCree's stomach was too thin for anything past Hanzo's wrist to pass, but he could at least reach the dent with the tip of his fingers. He snuck them beneath the curved metal and pushed it outward as hard as he could.  
The position was awfully awkward and he really did not have much leverage, still the deformation grated and slowly bent under the pressure of his fingers.  
From the moment the metal had reversed back into its original shape, McCree inhaled loudly and deeply. Relief washed over Hanzo as he felt the cowboy's chest heave beneath his hand.  
He hurriedly pulled it out the moment after; just because he had saved the cowboy did not give him the right to grope his torso.

“Christ on a stake Hanzo, I thought I was done for.” Jesse chuckled warily, looking up with grateful eyes. His breathing still sounded a bit ragged, but his cheeks had regained some color. “I owe ya one pardner.  
\- Do not mention it. It would have been shameful of you to be killed by the one thing designed to protect your body.” Hanzo smiled weakly, rubbing his hand to chase away the sensation of ants crawling over his skin.

McCree attempted to stand, only to sway like a newborn deer. Hanzo immediately stood by his side and offered him help. “Manage yourself,” he huffed impatiently, allowing the cowboy to use his shoulder for support. “You nearly suffocated because of this corset.  
\- Hey don't blame my armor, this thing's pretty sturdy! T'was that guy punchin' in it who's guilty.” Jesse winced, rubbing his side. “Ow, ow, ouch. That's definitely gonna bruise.  
\- Bruises should be the least of your concerns. You are bleeding,” the archer quipped, not entirely reassured about Jesse's health.  
McCree wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his gloved hand, his messy eyebrows raising when he saw the bloodstains on the leather. “Oh, ain't nothin'. I jus' bit the inside o’ my cheek. That big son of a gun sure doesn't pull punches.”

He stood clumsily, still keeping a hand over Hanzo's shoulder in case he swayed. The extended touch was starting to irk the archer, but he would have to tolerate it a little longer.  
“Who are these people? They seemed to know you well.” He pressed inquisitively. Now that he knew for sure that Jesse was alright, he could not help but think about everything the snarky blond said.

“Jamison Fawkes an' Mako Rutledge, as known as Junkrat an' Roadhog or 'the junkers'. I also know them pretty well, I was jus’ playin’ dumb to buy ya some time earlier.” McCree explained, carefully releasing Hanzo. “They are wanted for tons of shit. Mass destruction, arson, grand theft, murder an' so on. Their list is almost as long as mine, but they haven't managed yet to catch up on me an' got arrested a bunch o' times. However it’s jus’ impossible to catch ‘em an' keep 'em locked up, 'cause they're pretty good at escapin' spectacularly.  
\- Charming individuals. Are they like you, ex-cons reconverted into bounty hunters?  
\- Not really, they are actually what I call hardened criminals. They are after no one but me.” Jesse casually replied as if they were chatting about the weather, while brushing off the wet leaves clinging his back. “They're probably jus' in for the money on my head an' the additional spectacle of me danglin' from a rope. Besides I can't picture these dingos willingly workin' on the good side of the law. Once I'm outta the picture, ya bet yer boots they'll return to their merry ol’ way.”

Hanzo hesitated for a second; judging from the way McCree was beating about the bush, he was not going to elaborate on his disagreement with the bandits. There was not much he could do beside putting his finger right on the issue. “They mentioned something about your betraying them in the past,” he begun difficultly, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “McCree, know that I take no pleasure in asking this. But… Must I be wary of you?”

The nonchalance completely vanished from McCree's face, the cowboy becoming pale again. “Naw Shimada, not at all! Th-that was before.” He stammered, taking a step toward Hanzo. When the archer tensed up, he recoiled like a kicked puppy and stayed on his spot, fidgeting with his serape.  
“I’d never betray ya, an’ not jus' for yer pretty face or the treasure awaitin' us. I’ve done awful things, but I've always been loyal. I stayed loyal to Deadlock for years, till I opened my eyes, wiped the shit that covered 'em an' saw what we inflicted on the innocent folks crossin' our path. Same 'bout my comrades; saw many of 'em get shot like dogs for li’l to no reason… Life's short in these merciless middles an' I was pretty lucky to have lived so far.  
The junkers had their money, yet wanted to derail a train full of people. There was no way this incident wouldn’t have caused losta victims, an' yet they-they wanted to do it 'cause they sure love leavin' chaos behind.  
\- Then why?” Hanzo asked, staying impartial despite the hurt in McCree's eyes. “Why participate in a robbery with them if you knew they would be so careless about the innocents?  
\- ‘Cause I had to. My hand was forced.” Jesse bitterly spat, his voice still raucous. “I had jus’ left the gang with nothin’ but the clothes on my back an’ Peacekeeper. I was badly wounded an' I didn’t know any better, 't was easy for the Sheriff an' his coyotes to find me. They were all over my back an' threatened to lock me up for life if I didn't play along. Gave them the means to destroy Deadlock, then I purposely joined the junkers' crazy scheme to get ‘em caught. In exchange, I was free to roam as long as I assured the towns protection from the riffraffs.”

McCree was now deliberately avoiding Hanzo's eyes, focusing instead on rolling a twig beneath his boot. “I was a lesser, desperate boy Shimada, so desperate. Not alone, for I had an' still have two great friends that watched over me an' did their best to pull me through. But there was only so much they could do. Now, betrayin' the junkers wasn't part of the plan. All I was supposed to do was to stick with 'em till we'd reach the next station. But then Junkrat decided we should crash the train…”  
He removed his Stetson to shove a hand through his hair, eyes staring into the distance. “Killin’ innocent folks sure ain’t the way to start redemption, so I trapped these two devils in the engine room an' separated the locomotive from the wagons, before jumpin' off with the money we collected. The head of the train safely made it to the next station where the law enforcers were waitin’, no one in the wagons was hurt, an’ I gave the cash back. Considerin’ all o' that, they’ve got the most legit reasons to hold a grudge ‘gainst me. An' while I ain't proud of the backstabbin', I wouldn't act differently if I had to do it over; it was my only chance to clean the slate with the authorities.”  
He paused to place the Stetson back on his head, then met Hanzo's eyes once again. Despite the lack of ambient light, a fiery glint animated them. “All o' that was years ago. I am a different man now, a man who sure as hell ain't gonna sell ya in exchange of a relative freedom. If I were asked right now to choose between a noose an' a leash, I'd request to pick the tree I'll be hangin' from. Here's the answer to yer question.”

Hanzo nodded silently, suppressing a shiver and taking in all this information. That was a lot to process, and the cowboy's stare did not help him. “I understand your dilemma with the authorities and urge you to believe I have done the same in the past. Not as much for my own sake than for someone I cherish, but it was a very much similar experience.” He whispered thoughtfully. Like McCree, he had turned his back to the people he belonged with, although his heart still remained burdened with remorse for his betrayal.  
“What I do not understand is that after you have fulfilled your debt, a reward has been offered for your capture or death. That it was done shortly before my arrival must have been a coincidence I am sure, for we had no connections whatsoever before our fortuitous meeting.  
\- Guess someone among the authorities is also holdin’ a grudge against me.” Jesse shrugged. “Who knows really, maybe one of the higher-ups doesn't want any scum to walk under the sun, repented or not.”

Hanzo frowned, taking a step toward McCree. “I am no judge, but I do know from your actions that you are no scum.” He bluntly declared.  
The cowboy blinked at him, then picked Hanzo's hand and held it between his own. The archer let him, taken aback but not displeased by the gesture. “Dear… Shimada,” Jesse started, visibly itching to throw in a nickname, “on my word of honor I, Jesse J. McCree, swear to take ya all the way to that treasure an' return safely to the civil world.”  
The solemn declaration left Hanzo speechless and disarmed. All he could do was staring at the cowboy who was slightly squeezing his hand.  
“I-I appreciate your formalness.” He finally muttered, awkwardly cupping Jesse's hands and slightly bowing his head in respect.  
“An' I appreciate yer trust… Sweetheart,” McCree hummed, his mouth slowly stretching into a wide grin.

Erratic laughter suddenly shrilled through the woods, seemingly coming from the clearing. Jesse released Hanzo's hand and turned to scrutinize the woods, the cowboy fully alert. “Sounds like Junkrat's feelin' these mushrooms.  
\- What do you mean?” The archer frowned, finding the sound rather disturbing. Laughing was the last thing he would have expected the bandits to do after inhaling the spores. “What do these do exactly? Didn't you say these mushrooms were lethal?”  
“Nah, I only said they might explode if ya damaged them. Never actually tried to step on one to see what it would do.  
\- So piercing these could have ended with critical failure as well, should you have been wrong?  
\- Too late to dwell on the past archer. It worked out in our favor anyway. Judgin' from what I'm hearin', I'd say piercin' these make a man as high as a kite.”

If that were the case, then Junkrat seemed very affected from the sound of it. “Maybe we should go see how they fare.” Hanzo whispered as he picked up his bow. “They still have your gun after all. And if we have pursuers after us, they could join them or point them in the direction we left. So let us get your effects back now and leave before they recover.  
\- Shit ya're right,” McCree unhappily sighed, palming his empty holster. “Hope the little shit didn't damage Peacekeeper, or I’ll kick his scrawny ass back t’Australia.”

They walked back to the clearing, Hanzo taking the lead and Jesse right on his six. He held his bow before him, the string drawn back with an arrow nocked, while the cowboy had unsheathed a knife from his boot. The junkers should normally be incapacitated at the moment, but one could not be too cautious. These bandits had proved themselves as threats, and Hanzo would be damned if he ever slacked off in the presence of an enemy.

They found Junkrat in the clearing. The cackling blond was rolling in dirt, his sunburned skin covered in mud. He kept on grabbing handfuls of torn moss and dead leaves, throwing them up as high as he could and watching it fall back with a childlike glee.  
At least he had not attempted to start a bonfire. As damp as this place was, there were enough dead trees to cause a real disaster.

The gun was lying forgotten among the roots of a young birch tree. Jesse swiftly picked it up, quickly checking that the firearm had not suffered any damage during the mayhem. Satisfied, he made a show of reloading the gun and shoved the knife back in his boot. “Well ya sure are stoned ya li'l rascal.” He smirked down at the blond who completely ignored him, engrossed in the black beetle that scuttled along his peg leg.

Hanzo remained on guard, searching the borders of the clearing for a sign of Roadhog. Where the hell was he? There was not a single spot where the massive man could have hidden, especially when undergoing a hallucinogenic experience.  
Then it just hit him; the bandit had been wearing that weird pig mask all along. Maybe it had shielded him from the spores.

“McCree!” Hanzo turned to warn the cowboy, who was poking the ecstatic blond with the tip of his foot.

A branch above them suddenly snapped and someone dropped right behind Hanzo. Before he could react, a massive hand suddenly closed on his arm and threw him aside like a ragdoll.  
The entire world blurred and spun, until the archer slammed into a tree trunk.  
He voicelessly gasped, pain shooting through his spine. His mind guttered like the flame of a candle as he slumped onto the wet grass, bow slipping from his grip. His quiver fell too, sliding off his shoulder when he struggled to get back up.  
As the archer attempted to get a hold on his weapon, Roadhog walked straight to him. He barely managed to catch the tip of an arrow before the bandit rammed into him and dragged him off his feet.  
The archer was hurled back against the tree, his body held up by the hair. The bark mercilessly bit into his uncovered side, the skin burning and prickling.  
Hanzo desperately tried to fight back, one hand flying to grip onto Roadhog's and trying to pry his fingers off. With his other, he clenched onto the recovered arrow and used it to stab the strong arm holding him.

But it did not affect Roadhog one bit, his arm thicker than a ham. He might as well have been using a pencil to defend himself, it would not have been less effective.  
The bandit rammed him against the tree with all his might a third time and Hanzo lost consciousness.

-

When he came back to his senses, Roadhog was pinning his head against the tree, his large hand partially covering his eyes. Another hand was gripping his collarbone, and his feet were barely touching the roots at the bottom of the tree.  
He could only see little through the gaps between the meaty fingers. McCree was standing meters away from him, gun switching aim between a spot on Hanzo’s right side, most likely Roadhog judging from the way he was held, and another further on his left that could only be Junkrat by elimination.  
He looked calm, but the archer had been around the cowboy long enough to tell that he was actually agitated.

Hanzo instinctively started thrashing, only to promptly stop. He had to clench his teeth, so he could smother a pained groan; his body was terribly sore after the repeated impacts against the wood, pain radiating from just about everywhere.  
The worst of it came from the back of his head, which was throbbing in waves and potentially bleeding. It was competing against the burning sensation spreading across his back and the acute soreness in his right shoulder. As far as he could tell, he had no broken bones or dislocated joints, but that was barely a relief in this critical situation.

McCree suddenly spoke, a cold fury tinting his drawl. “Now that I’ve got yer attention, let’s all cool down.” He growled, keeping on switching aims between the two bandits. “There’s no need to spill Shimada’s blood. He didn’t kill any of ya, even when he had the chance. Ya gotta respect that.”  
Junkrat’s loud voice came from Hanzo’s left, confirming his assumption as well as giving him a headache: “The drongo tried poisoning us! How is that not an attempt on our lives?” He sounded surprisingly coherent. Had Hanzo been out this long? Or perhaps the effect of the spores was quick to wear off?

“Turned out these ain’t poisonous one bit, so lucky ya. An’ ya seem already pretty healed to me right now. Tells me they ain't very effective, or ya’re used to steppin’ on ‘em. I kinda believe the latter to be more likely.  
\- N-not true!” The blond protested, while the sound of creaking leather suggested that Roadhog was rubbing his masked face tiredly. “What about Roady? He clubb'd him pretty hard with that fancy wooden stick, an' he shanked his arm!  
\- The man’s built like a brick shit house. With the thickness of his skin, that probably felt like a light tap an' some mosquito bites.” A groan followed McCree’s rebuttal. “See? He’s fine. Besides, he attacked first. Shimada was defendin' himself.  
\- I don’t give a shit, he has to pay! His poster says dead or preferably alive, right? Well we’re gonna go with preferably dead!  
\- Drongo, Shimada is _priceless_.” Jesse bit back, tightening his grip on the cross of his gun. “Like literally. He ain’t worth a single dime. I know that much ‘cause I captured him an' went to the Sheriff of Li’l Bones’ Creek. I didn’t get squad shit in return.”

An awkward silence followed his statement, until Junkrat spoke again. “Why are you so determin'd to save this guy? You never car'd about anyone else but your own ass before.” The bandit muttered skeptically. “Unless you guys are actually close! Did you have a naughty with him? Admit it!  
\- Jesus lovin’ Christ no! W-where are ya even gettin' that from?” McCree spluttered, surprisingly abashed. Even though most of the bandit’s dialect was completely lost to Hanzo, the meaning of that question was pretty obvious judging from his suggestive tone and the blush that appeared on the cowboy's cheeks.  
“No? A fine piece like this one-” A cold hand slapped Hanzo's naked pectoral, “-and a dog like you? No way, I bet you guys totally root'd!” Junkrat cackled.  
The archer saw red and blindly swung his leg toward the left. That would not help his situation at all, but that affront was purely intolerable.  
His foot met a solid body and he was awarded by a pained yelp. However the victory was short-lived; the abrupt move caused pain to flare anew in his back, on top of which Roadhog clenched his collarbone threateningly and almost forced a gasp out of him.

“He’s bloody feisty!” Junkrat hissed in a wheeze. “Where the hell did you find this cockie?  
\- Told ya, he’s a cactus rose. Found him in the desert.” McCree smirked, eyes briefly stopping on Hanzo. “An’ if ya think he’s feisty now, ya haven’t seen how he wields his spikes with that bow. Honestly, it’d be so much simpler for ya guys if ya jus’ let ‘im go.”

Both bandits exchanged a glance, or at least Hanzo supposed they did judging from the short silence. “Even if we agreed to spare him, why would we give up on the heaps of moolah for your head? Sixty million dollars, remember?  
\- Thanks rat face, I had forgotten.” Jesse retorted sarcastically. “Sure there’s that, but lemme tell ya somethin’. That bounty is nothin', ya hear me? Nothin' but a _nickel_ compared to what I have on me right now.”

That last bit ticked Hanzo off. “McCree,” he whispered.  
“I've got something a hellah more precious than that,” the cowboy said as he reached for something behind his back. What he withdrew caused Hanzo to draw a sharp breath.  
McCree was holding the cylinder that contained the map. It had most likely slipped from Hanzo's Obi during the struggle, and now the cowboy was showing it off to two renown criminals.  
“Inside this baby is a map that leads straight to a dragon's treasure.” Jesse announced cockily, unscrewing the cylinder before the two bandits. “An’ as a proof of good faith, here's a glimpse.”  
He tucked the map out and partially unfolded it, just showing the desert and the canyons.

Hanzo could not sit back and say nothing, so he bit into Roadhog’s palm with all his might. “Jesse J. McCree!” He roared the moment the bandit removed his hand away from his face. “You cannot seriously bargain that with these-” He was rudely interrupted by the pointy tip of a hook painfully pressing against his neck.  
“Shut up guy, we’re having a serious conversation.” Junkrat snapped. Then he turned back to McCree, who had shoved the map back inside its holder and was now screwing the top shut. “Mate, what the hell is the dragon's treasure, and is an actual dragon involved in this story?  
\- Heck if I know whether there's a dragon or not. But the treasure, that there is! Mountains of gold an’ a thousand times the weight of yer friend in precious stones.” He claimed whimsically, raising the cylinder above his head. The plated decorations caught the faint sun rays, giving a small glow in return. “This pretty li'l thing, that's jus' a container for the map. Can ya even begin to imagine how the treasure it leads to looks like? Well mates, it's all yers if ya let me an' my buddy go in one piece. I value my life very much, an’ he probably does too deep down. So do we have deal? It’s a fair trade for all concerned parties.”  
Hanzo looked at Jesse, slowly shaking his head. But McCree sustained his glare infallibly, slightly nodding back. The archer could have yelled if it were not for the hook menacingly poking his bottom jaw.

There was a heavy silence during which Roadhog and Junkrat whispered to each other. Hanzo was unable to pick up what the two were saying, the large bandit’s mumbling absolutely incomprehensible and the blond’s simply too fast. How McCree had managed to understand their gibberish earlier was a mystery.  
When the junkers reached a consensus, they nodded at each other before facing McCree. The cowboy grinned amiably, while he discreetly reaffirmed his hold on Peacekeeper. “So? Do we have a deal boys?  
\- Yeah, we kinda wanted to say no, but really we don’t see why not.” Junkrat shrugged carelessly, although the hasty drumming of his fingers against his biceps betrayed a certain excitement. “But you’re sure we can’t kill that mongrel?  
\- Pretty darn sure mate. Ain’t no deal if either one of us dies.  
\- Alright, alright, I’m just kidding.” The blond beamed, until Roadhog gave him a small shove and impatiently groaned. “How do we do this?” He translated.  
“Ya bring Shimada right in the middle of that clearin’ after lettin' him pick his stuff up on the way. I’ll join ya there, we do the exchange, then we all fuck off an' never see each other ever again. Ya won’t seek us out, ‘specially me, an’ we’ll do the same for ya both. I ain't into the huntin' business no more anyway. Works for ya big guy?”

Roadhog agreed with a nod, apparently satisfied with his terms.  
He lowered Hanzo from the tree, though keeping a firm grip on his collarbone. A thousand scenarios ran through the archer's aching head, as he struggled to imagine an escape out of this mess without leaving the map to these criminals. But he found none that did not involve a great deal of risk; they may be two versus two, but he had undergone quite a beating and McCree was probably not at the top of his shape either.

In the end, he could not do anything other than oblige, cursing himself for being unable to keep the map, and McCree for putting their entire quest in jeopardy.  
Even though sacrificing unknown wealth for his life was the most selfless thing one had ever done for him.

His bow had thankfully not suffered during the mayhem, and the only damage done to his quiver after impacting the tree was a faint chink. His arrows had not scattered too far from their container, so he picked all of them up despite his sore back. All except the one he had used to stab Roadhog, now useless with its stick shattered beyond repair and the tip coated in clotting blood.  
Once the archer had gathered his belongings, the bandit pushed him until they reached the middle of the glade. Standing back up and walking made his back hurt like hell, to the point black spots appeared before his eyes. Nonetheless he swallowed back the pain and stood upright on his legs.

Jesse walked toward them, insensitive to Hanzo’s murderous glare. He royally ignored him in fact, his attention solely focused on the junkers. Peacekeeper was pointing at the floor, but McCree seemed still ready to use it.  
Once the cowboy had closed the distance, the exchange started. And each second of it felt excruciatingly slow for the aching archer.  
Jesse slowly put the revolver back in its holster, then rested a hand over Hanzo’s shoulder while extending the map toward Junkrat. The blond tried to pull it out of his grip, but the cowboy would not let go. “Release the archer mate.” He addressed Roadhog, his intimidating eyes tinted with copper.  
In spite of his current predicament and state of mind, Hanzo never failed to notice the changes of color displayed on the cowboy's irises.

Roadhog did not make a move, most likely assessing McCree or considering payback for the wounds he sustained. His grip on Hanzo's collarbone was so tight, more strength would assuredly snap the bone in two.  
After an excruciating, tensed silence, the massive bandit finally complied. He unceremoniously pushed Hanzo toward McCree, the archer nearly toppling off and the cowboy having to let go of the map in order to catch him.

Without a word Jesse threw Hanzo over his shoulder, tearing an undignified yelp out of the startled archer. Then he rapidly drew away from the two bandits, tensed and ready to react.  
But neither men paid attention to them anymore; they were overtly cheering, Junkrat waving the cylinder and Roadhog patting him on the back.  
“Well this was fun and all.” The blond grinned at them, teasingly tossing the map holder from one hand to the other. “But we have to dash! Rack off you losers!” He spouted, before climbing on Roadhog’s back and cackling like a hyena.

While the large bandit waved mockingly at McCree, the cowboy reaffirmed his grip on a discomfited Hanzo and spun around, diving into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: that chapter was going to be waaaay longer, but I ran out of time and had to cut it there. Sorry y'all, you'll have to wait for next chapter to see the end of Hanzo's current dream ʕ≖ᴥ≖`ʔ
> 
> Fun fact number 2: action scenes are not my forte ʕ˃̵ᴥ˂̵;ʔ hope it does not show too much


	19. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING* : description of a corpse and wounds.** No gore and nothing too graphic, but I'd rather warn sensitive viewers just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? Happy summer break (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ
> 
> As usual, thank you for enjoying my weird story and commenting! You truly are the core of my motivation and make me look forward to writing this!  
> Kinda makes me nervous too cause I'm afraid to let you guys down ʕ/)ᴥ(\; ʔ
> 
> Just to be clear because I got a few kind offers; thank you very much for offering your help, but I am not looking for beta readers. However you are free to comment if you spot mistakes that are really bothersome and I'll work on them ASAP ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑)૭✧
> 
>  
> 
> [Anyways! Here are the doodles I made for this new chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/163065035696/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-arisen-hey)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy our merry walk through the tranquilest forest that ever tranquilized ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Junkrat’s laughing and nonsense-spouting accompanied them until they were completely out of hearing range.

Hanzo's initial shock from losing to the bandits had worn off. The pounding on the back of his skull had tremendously worsened, to the point that he wanted to slump against the cowboy’s back and succumb to dizziness.  
However their entire quest was in jeopardy. He could not sit back and let the cowboy scupper it all. So he desperately moved heaven and earth to free himself McCree’s hold, the urgency of his attempts growing as they were getting farther and farther away from the clearing.

But the strong arms would not release him, and kicking against the chest armor had little to no effect. “Put me down!” The archer roared in Jesse’s ears, pushing against the cowboy’s shoulders to extricate his body from the man’s hold.  
His furious thrashing did cause the cowboy some trouble, as he struggled to keep him on his shoulder. “Stop bein’ a pain an’ lemme carry ya for Hell's sake! Ya jus’ took a serious beatin’, ya shouldn’t be movin’ around like this!” McCree groaned, reaffirming his grip on Hanzo’s torso. “God it feels like I’m holdin’ a bad-tempered cat. Except it ain’t no cat, it's a fuckin’ tiger instead!  
\- You might be right about that.” The archer hissed.  
Perhaps it was time to show his _tiger_.

Without hesitation, he curled his fingers and slammed his palm against a precise spot of Jesse’s neck.  
Had he been standing in a less awkward position with more leverage and his strength undiminished, he would have knocked the cowboy out upon impact. Instead his strike caused McCree to trip with a yelp and clumsily drop the archer. Hanzo barely managed to land on his feet, narrowly catching himself on a tree stump. Jesse was not as lucky, slumping in a pile of dead leaves.

The cowboy awkwardly stood back up, rubbing his neck with a wince. “The hell was that about? That hurt like a b-” He did not have the time to finish, as the archer grabbed him by the collar and shook him hard enough to make his Stetson tilt forward.

“You! What were _you_ about when you gave them the map?” Hanzo shouted, accusingly pointing at McCree’s face and almost accidentally poking his eye out.  
“That’s the thing, I-” Jesse started, just to get abruptly interrupted again.  
“What are we going to do now? Getting it back is just going to be a complete hassle, if not impossible now that we have lost them!” The archer spit, ignoring the way his head pounded at the loudness of his own voice.  
“Darlin’ I-” The cowboy kept trying to get a word in, but Hanzo was too furious to listen.  
“Don’t you dare distract me with pet names and con your way out of this! Yes, your quick thinking saved my skin and I am highly grateful for your doing so. But you had the advantage McCree, you were holding them at gunpoint! Instead you not only gambled my map without consulting me, but you also gambled our treasure!  
\- Shimada it’s-  
\- Now it is all in the hands of these lunatics. This was not just a dismal failure, this was utterly dishonorable!”

As he paused in his ranting to catch his breath, Jesse progressively reached up for his Stetson. Hanzo did not pay attention to his gesture at all, until the cowboy tucked a sheet of paper from beneath the hat, unfolded it and held it right before his face.  
The angry archer immediately forgot the tirade he had been about to treat McCree with, as he recognized the document in the mismatched hands. His eyes went wide and his jaw slightly dropped.

The cowboy was holding the map, the document now marked with creases caused by a hasty folding but overall intact.

Hanzo was speechless; he released Jesse's collar and slowly reached for the map. ‘How?’ He silently mouthed, eyes locked onto the parchment.  
“When I showed it to the Aussies, yer gettin’ angry completely distracted ‘em. So I hid it up ‘ere.” McCree explained calmly, adjusting the position of the Stetson over his messy hair. “Put yer Wanted poster inside the cylinder instead, jus’ in case they’d check inside to see if it was full. I wish it had been theirs jus’ to make it a perfect middle finger, but I didn’t have 'em on me. Oh well, it still feels pretty darn good to have fooled them fools.”  
He let the map rest in Hanzo’s hands and took a step forward. “Been tryin’ to tell ya a buncha times, but ya sure flipped yer lid jus’ now. Either ya get deaf when ya’re mad, or ya still don’t trust me.” He added in an accusative tone.

Hanzo swallowed, now feeling utterly foolish. Once again he had slipped up into another unjustified and rude outburst, just after that the cowboy had saved his life. That was becoming a pattern in his reactions.  
“I-… I apologize.” He muttered, hesitantly looking up at McCree.  
Jesse raised a hand and the archer's body naturally tensed as he expected retaliations. If the cowboy was planning on hitting him, he was not going to stop him; he rightly deserved punishment for his distrust and ungratefulness.

_“You lack in discipline Hanzo. As it is my responsibility now that your mother is no more, I will see to correct that lack.”_

But instead McCree leaned forward. A hand cupped his chin, a scruffy beard scrapped against his jaw and a pair of dry lips rested over his cheekbone.  
A few seconds later, the cowboy moved back, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Told ya, friendly punches are tradable for kisses. Ya got roughed up pretty bad an' I was pretty convincin' it seems, so ya had every right to be cranky. ‘Sides, if I managed to fool ya of all people, that means I sure pulled the wool over these suckers’ eyes.” He winked, grinning cheekily.  
“I suppose so.” The archer coughed, more taken aback by the kiss than the use of another unknown idiom. He had taken this trade thing for one of McCree’s weird jokes.  
Deep down he did prefer this alternative to an actual slap, even though he was not keen on the invasion of his personal space.

“Do you have anything that could replace the cylinder?” Hanzo asked to mask his embarrassment, scowling his face into a stern expression even though his trouble was invisible with the lack of proper lightening.  
“Not really, except maybe… Hold on a sec’.” Jesse rummaged in his pockets, till he took out a tiny leather sachet. Hanzo recognized it before the cowboy untied the cords holding it shut; this was McCree's sewing kit. All it contained was a spare shirt button with a couple needles and some strings.  
“If ya fold the map enough, it should fit inside. ‘Course it ain’t as pretty an’ fancy as the cylinder, but it’ll keep the parchment dry an’ no one will want to steal it.” Out in the wild, this sack was better than nothing, but the cowboy still sounded quite self-deprecating about it. Maybe he did feel guilty for giving away the cylinder.

“It will do McCree, thank you.” Hanzo nodded as he neatly folded the map. He promptly stored the resulting square in the sack and shoved it at the bottom of his quiver.  
“We now need to make the most distance we can from the junkers. They will eventually take a look at the map and find out about your ruse. If they have not already. While you have already taken us reasonably far from the clearing, it would be reckless not to keep going.  
\- I'd rather take a break considerin' yer state, but that smell in the air tells me we’re gonna have to find a shelter for the night. So we might as well continue.”  
The archer sniffed, intrigued; the air felt heavier now. He had no idea this was possible considering the already overwhelming dampness. “Is it going to rain?  
\- Absolutely. Probably in an hour, if not-” The rumble of an approaching thunders rolled over. “Well, right now really, ‘cause these things move pretty fast. Will ya be able to walk?” He gazed worryingly at Hanzo.

The archer's head and shoulders were basically killing him, but not to the point he would tolerate being carried around like a bag of potatoes. So he shook his head, hoping he would feel better eventually.

–

As Jesse predicted, it did not take long before rain started falling. And rather than a few drops, it was a heavy downpour that was violent enough to pass through the thick foliage and drenched both men to the bone in a matter of seconds.

Hanzo was all the more soaked, for he had neither a hat nor a blanket to shield himself from the rain. As a result, each fat drop that plummeted on his head only aggravated the ache at the back of his skull. And the already treacherous ground was now so soggy, it felt like the mud was trying to swallow his shoes with every single step.

“Careful now, watch yer feet!” McCree warned as they dreaded on a rather uneven path across a bushy slope. The water streaming down had barred the path with small gulls and potholes, making its crossing barely practicable.  
Hanzo openly groaned out of annoyance. The cowboy had uttered that warning ever since the rain started, and it was really wearing him down. “Will you stop telling me to be careful? I have heard you all ten times and I am not a goldfish.  
\- Didn’t mean nothin’ hon’, ‘s just real easy to twist an ankle or trip down this slippery slope.”

The archer never got to work on a rebuttal; he could not be certain with the roll of thunder, but he could have sworn that there was a rumbling sound coming from his left.  
He realized a second too late that it was the roar of approaching waters.

A torrent of mud suddenly flowed down the slope, bursting through the bushes. Hanzo did not have the time to move out of the way; he was hit with full force, the current swiping him off his feet.  
The next thing he knew, he was sliding down the slope, inexorably carried away by the turbulent mudflow.

Blinded by dirt and rainwater, the archer desperately tried to grab anything in his reach in order to stop his fall, but to no avail; small branches whipped his arms or broke on impact, anything resilient enough slipping through his wet fingers. His bow and quiver bumped against his back, sending sparks of pain up his spine.  
After an unending struggle, the ground abruptly disappeared beneath Hanzo's back; he briefly flew, until he fell into a body of water face first.  
The pond was shallow, but deep enough to drown. The archer promptly rolled on his back and sat up, coughing and wiping the water out of his eyes.  
He wished he had not and stayed blind instead; his skin, his clothes, everything was caked with mud.  
While the water of the pond and the unrelenting rain were starting to rinse him down, it did not stop him from being horrified by his disgusting state.

An enthusiastic whoop made Hanzo look up from his hands. He barely had the time to catch the sight of Jesse sliding down the muddy ditch on his stomach, childlike amusement plastered on his face.  
The cowboy dipped into the pool, right between Hanzo's legs. The archer remained completely frozen in place, mortified to be drenched and muddy, irked that McCree had nearly crushed him with his stupidity and double-mortified because the dirty cowboy was now looking up from between his legs, resembling a wet dog and grinning like an utter fool.

“Howdy?” Jesse tilted his hat in a mock salute, water dripping down the brim of the Stetson. “Y'alright there? Nothin' broken?” He asked as Hanzo remained unresponsive and petrified, his smile slightly faltering in worry.  
All the archer managed to accomplish was a weak shake of the head. It was little, but visibly enough to reassure McCree.  
The cowboy stood up, squeezing most of the water out of his serape and wiping his chaps. Then he clasped a hand on Hanzo's arm and hauled him back on his feet.  
“It's alright, 's jus' a bit o' gloopy glop.” He hummed, gently brushing the mud off the archer's shoulders and back.  
“ _A bit of-_? What about the filth and parasites this must contain?” Hanzo weakly hissed, batting the cowboy’s hands away. “A bath of bleach would not suffice to cleanse my skin!  
\- Ya're bein' dramatic Shimada, good ol' rain will wash most of it away. Besides, that's good protection against bugs.”

While the archer did everything in his power to contain his revulsion, Jesse looked at the ditch from above his shoulder. “At least these two ain’t gonna follow us down 'ere an’ this downfall’s gonna erase our tracks, so that gives us one hell of a breather. I see ya’ve got all yer things, so we're good to go.  
\- Go? But where? In what direction?  
\- All roads lead to Rome darlin'. Can’t really see with this weather, but the position of the risin’ sun will tell us where to go. We'll be fine, don't worry 'bout it. Right now what we need is a shelter. Even if the rain stops, it's too dangerous to walk around in the dark. That scrawny fucker might’ve left more traps nearby.”

–

They went through the downpour, which never stopped but lost a little in strength. The light had severely decreased, dusk settling in. With the cold breeze that came along, Hanzo had begun to shiver quite badly, the tremors adding themselves to the overall soreness of his body. McCree seemed affected too, as he walked quite close to the archer to keep warm.

After what felt like hours of walking, they stumbled upon the ruins of what used to be some kind of ranch. Most of it had been destroyed, the remains in complete disarray. The only structures still standing, a house and stables, had the entirety of their surfaces covered in kudzu.  
Like the rest of the forest, it was dismal and awfully eerie. Yet Hanzo could not have been more relieved to be here. Even if the house was probably far more insalubrious than McCree's shack, it would make a proper refuge for the night.  
“Looks like ain't nobody home.” The cowboy whispered, voice barely audible over rustling leaves and trickling water. “Let's stay on our guards though.”

They walked around the ruins with caution, but found no sign of life whatsoever. It seemed whoever had owned this place had abandoned it ages ago. It did take a little less than a year for kudzu to invade an entire area, but the overall decay of the ranch suggested a much longer period.  
However, as they took a turn by the house, they found out it was a completely different story.

Right next to the house, hanging from a twisted oak, a skeletal corpse was slightly swaying in the wind.

McCree silently cursed, while Hanzo lowered his bow.

They cautiously stepped around the corpse, the archer bringing a sleeve over his face despite the lack of scent. The cowboy followed, rummaging through his pockets and taking out his zippo. The small flickering flame did little to enlighten the area, only giving the corpse a furthermore nightmarish look.  
Hanzo had seen dead bodies before, some who's lives he had taken himself. But never had he seen one in such a state.

Their face was awfully emaciated, with empty sockets and a gapping jaw barely holding to the skull. The matted hair that went down to the bony hips and the remains of clothes draping the body suggested they used to be a woman, but the body having gone through some kind of mummification made it impossible to tell for sure. Only a thorough examination of the corpse would confirm so, and neither man was about to do that.  
It put Hanzo off; mummification was a process that could only be achieved in a very dry place, preferably with something to absorb the water. With the dampness of the air, it would have been impossible to lyophilize anything, especially not a human body.

Perhaps it held a meaning of some kind.

“What happened?” He asked out loud. McCree seemed briefly startled when he spoke out, the cowboy having stared at the corpse all that time. “I mean, the cause of death is fairly obvious. What I wonder is whether they did this to themselves or not.” He preferred not to mention the word 'suicide', for it would assuredly take his mind to darker places.  
Jesse looked back at the corpse with a frown, examining the noose and the surroundings. The slight swaying caused the rope to creak sinisterly.  
“I'm gonna go ahead an' say not.” McCree finally said, pushing his Stetson up to wipe his forehead. “From my point o' view, this person was lynched.  
\- What makes you say that?  
\- Ain't no note anywhere near 'em. Fair enough, it could’ve been destroyed with time or eaten by bugs, or there was no note in the first place.” He admitted as Hanzo was about to refute his hypothesis. “Still they would’ve used somethin’ to reach a noose that high. Ain't nothin' anywhere near that tree that could’ve served as a stool. I ain't a forensic wizard, but clearly it wasn't the work of one unfortunate soul.”

Hanzo threw a look around. There were moldy crates and barrels by the house, but they were not remotely close to the tree. “I believe you are right about this. You are more observant than I thought.” He muttered, his gaze returning to the body's face.  
The mouth wide open and twisted, as if the corpse was screaming, unsettled him all the more.

Jesse simply nodded. He went over to the crates and brought one closer. Under Hanzo’s bewildered eyes, he climbed on it to stand at the corpse's height and took a knife out of his boot. “Gimme a hand an’ hold 'em will ya? I'm gonna cut 'em loose.  
\- Are you sure?” The archer winced. He did not mean to sound heartless, but holding a cadaver in his arms was something he needed a good reason to do. “We do not know who they were, maybe they got what they rightly deserved.

McCree paused in his cutting. “Maybe they didn't. An' either way, it doesn’t matter.” He bitterly spat, turning an ardent glare at Hanzo. Despite his current state, the archer stood his ground fiercely.

But the cowboy softened up and tipped his hat forward. “O' course ya might be right. Maybe they committed somethin' so atrocious that they had to be hanged on their own grounds. But I reckon it's about time they're left to rest. Death's already a mighty price to pay, no one deserves to have their remains hung up like warnin' signs. Ain't human to do that.”  
He looked back at the corpse, his face now portraying a deep sadness. “I don't know 'em, but I know that could’ve been us if we hadn't made it out o' Li'l Bones' Creek. Can't help but feel for them, whoever they were, whatever they did or didn't do.”

The archer sighed softly, then he nodded. The cowboy had made his case, his compassion beyond touching.  
He ignored the pain in his back and steadily held the corpse as McCree cut the noose. After everything he had been through today, helping a mummy down was hardly the worst.

Although the detached body was rather light, McCree immediately climbed down to aid Hanzo. Since neither of them was in shape to dig a grave, they brought the corpse into the house.  
Plants had invaded the inside through the ajar door and windows, but the habitat still held some of the country charm it used to have. They did not linger though; the archer felt like an intruder and the cowboy most likely shared the feeling, judging by how he moved around with precaution.  
After a bit of exploring, they found the master bedroom and rested the corpse onto a moss-covered bed with all the gentleness they could muster.  
Jesse removed his hat and crossed himself, before muttering lowly in Spanish. Hanzo stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. He nonetheless payed his respect by laying a moth-eaten sheet over the body once McCree was done.

They promptly left the house, settling for the stables instead. They had no pieces of furniture, but Hanzo felt uncomfortable at the idea of using a dead person's belongings with their resting corpse in the vicinity. He could make do with some crates and a large pile of hay.

While the archer went back outside to clean himself the best he could with a barrel full of rainwater, McCree used haze and moldy planks of wood to light a fire. While the downpour had efficiently washed them, he had not yet shaken off the feeling of the mud caking his skin.

When he came back, the cowboy was dismantling an old crate into bits and feeding them to the fire. The old wood was no match against the prosthetic hand.  
“Why not use the kudzu?” The archer asked, a little perplexed. Certainly fresh plants would not burn as well as dry-ish wood, but they was an abundance of kudzu on the walls.  
“Cause legends 'bout these woods say that whoever destroys the trees gets rightly killed by the forest. It started after a group o' gentlemen from Dry Pass City left for the forest in order to get some precious woods. They were 'bout thirty o' them, some versions say a hundred.” McCree pondered. Hanzo looked at him, disconcerted but silent.  
“But only a handful o' them came back to town. When they were asked 'bout what happened to the others, they all said the same thing over an' over.” Jesse looked up at the archer, the fire casting worrying shadows on his face. “They said that all they did was cut one single tree. An' from the moment that tree went down, the ground shook, the wind howled, then the forest woke. 'T was a slaughter they said. An' when search parties were sent to find the corpse, they came back with their hands empty. Didn't find nothin', except the untouched gear left behind.  
That story's what kept Junkrat from toastin' ya where ya stood; even those who don't really believe that story know not to mess with these woods.  
\- Right.” Hanzo quipped, unimpressed. “Is this spooky tale suggesting that the 'Forest of being eaten alive by trees' is a thing, or are you suggesting the forest itself hung that person to a tree? And besides, how was this ranch built if you cannot damage the trees?  
\- 'Course not! I ain't sayin' the tree hung ‘em up, that's the work o’ human beings alright. An' I'm guessin' ya can bring in processed wood as long as it ain't from the forest itself.” Jesse shrugged.  
Hanzo shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle, but the cowboy pursued nevertheless. “No one can be blamed for bein' cautious. There's always a bit o' truth to legends. I mean look at ya, ya're a walkin' legend of yer own, dragon pardner.”

The archer stopped chuckling; he had almost forgotten about his improvised background. “I must concede this line of reasoning makes sense,” He muttered reluctantly, “but does that really have to apply to absurdities involving carnivorous trees?  
\- Yeah, ya're kinda right. I actually don't buy that one, sounds too far-fetched even for a guy like me. But so would a dragon man, right?  
\- I am not literally a dragon. I said I have their powers running through my veins… Powers I wish I could use right now.” Hanzo sighed, wincing as he palmed the back of his skull. His headache had dulled with the coldness of the rainwater and the macabre discovery, but it was presently coming back with a vengeance.

“Shucks I almost forgot, we gotta attend these wounds o' yers. Ya look like ya're gonna pass out any second now.” The cowboy stood and went to the archer, cupping the base of his neck to inspect his head.  
“I will be fine.” Hanzo growled, slapping Jesse's hand away. The wound was not real, although the pain felt so; it should probably not carry on to his next dream.  
However the cowboy stubbornly disagreed. “Stop bein' a dumbass an' lemme help ya. I fixed myself up a buncha times before. I know it plain sucks to do it on yer own, an' it ain't gonna get better by itself.” Jesse snapped, fingers abruptly brushing Hanzo's naked shoulder.

The archer gasped, the light contact enough to make his irritated skin burn. “Do not touch me.” He hissed, attempting to shove the man away. But the irritation only got worse when he moved his left arm; there were foreign bodies digging in his left side, widely spread from the top of his shoulder blade to the middle of his waist. “W-what is-  
\- Ya’ve got bark bits in the skin of yer back Shimada. Big splinters, looks pretty damn nasty. I can't leave that in an' pretend ya're dandy when ya can barely move, can I?  
\- Jesse J. McCree, I swear I will kill you if you-  
\- Look, I get it. Ya don't want me to touch ya ‘cause o’ my heavy-handed flirtin’. It's okay, that's totally my fault.” Jesse sighed, raising his hands to appease Hanzo. “But right now I ain’t tryin’ to seduce ya, I wanna help ya. Whatever left bits on ya ain't poison ivy, but it might be somethin' jus' as poisonous for all we know. That, an' you’ll need a hand to clean yer wounds proper, unless ya wanna end up with a nasty infection. If ya wanna do it on yer own, that's yer decision an' I'll respect it.”

As much as Hanzo did not want to be manhandled, he knew he had no other choice but to let the cowboy heal him. He had no reflecting surface to help him see his back, and the thought of all the things his body had been exposed to since he first stepped in these woods horrified him more than McCree’s big hands.  
“Alright.” He grumbled, taking a seat on a crate. Jesse politely nodded, but there definitely was triumph in his eyes.

Upon inspection, the wound on the back of his head turned out to be a bump with a gash. It was only a couple centimeter wide and almost entirely sealed with clotted blood, the rainwater having helped toning down the swelling.  
As for the dreaded bark splinters imbedded into his skin, Hanzo had to drop the Gi. The fabric pooled over his hips after he had awkwardly removed the sleeves, blatantly refusing that Jesse helped him strip.

Several bruises had widely bloomed over the archer's fair skin, but he had no broken bones. That alone he had been certain of, for it was something he had experimented in the past and he knew he would have been completely unable to move.

As McCree started pulling the splinters out one by one, Hanzo expected additional pain. However he was surprised to feel almost none, the cowboy actually gentle.  
After a few minutes of complete silence, he gazed at Jesse from above his shoulder and found him concentrated, his brows furrowed and the tip of his tongue pinched between his teeth.   
“Have you done this often?” The archer asked. McCree obviously had in order to acquire such a careful touch, but he was quite curious to find out how exactly.  
“Yep,” Jesse hummed without losing a shred of focus, “I had to pull so many cactus needles outta my flesh, I pretty much became a worldwide expert at removin' prickly suckers from a body without causin’ pain.  
\- I did not take you for a cactus hugger.” Hanzo replied with a fleeting smile.  
His comeback made Jesse snort. “Sorry to disappoint, but I ain't a masochist.”

As the archer raised an eyebrow with mock disbelief, he chuckled. “Let's just say that Sis an' I weren't on the best terms back when we started our partnership. She used to throw me around a lot whenever I tried saddlin' her, an' she took a mean pleasure at throwin' me straight into cactuses. Eventually she warmed up to my presence an' trusted me enough to let me sit on her back, but damn did we have a rough start. I'll never forget them cactus needles, spent hours pullin’ them outta places I didn’t know I had.”

He paused, then Hanzo felt something fresh and soft dab his wounds. A peculiar scent reached his nostrils, sharp and cutting from the damp air. “What are you applying on my back?  
\- Thymus. Found some growin’ in the remains of the garden outside while ya were busy cleanin' up. Can ya believe them li'l aromatic critters survived the green massacre? O' course it won't be much help if this shit's poisoned, but it'll fight off infections at least. It'd be a shame to mark such a pretty back.  
\- Maybe you should tune the flirting down while you are nursing my wounds. A friendly advice of course, for free.  
\- Well I’m done right now, so it ain’t inappropriate no more.” McCree rubbed his palms together to remove the bits of thymus clinging to his fingers and stood, while Hanzo shook his Gi and carefully put it back on. His back was still sensitive, but it hurt far less now.

“Now it’d be best if we set camp right ‘ere.” Jesse hummed, stretching his arms with a shameless groan. “After that beatin’ we both took, we’ve deserved ourselves a nice li’l break. Don’t move around too much okay? Ya stay put an' ask me if ya need anythin'.  
\- I will.” Hanzo muttered lowly.  
Before the cowboy could move away, the archer grabbed his arm. “Thank you. For saving me and tending to my wounds. I owe you once more.” He whispered self-consciously, his fingers clenching the plaid fabric. His disgraceful failure to take on the junkers still stung, even though it had turned out rather well in the end.

A prosthetic hand cupped his, the coolness of the metal giving his entire arm goose bumps. “Oh sweetheart, ain’t no need to keep tabs.” McCree smiled fondly. “Ya saved me right before, twice in a row moreover. So really, it’s all balanced.”  
He let Hanzo retrieved his hand, then moved to a pile of hay. He sat there and seemed lost in his thoughts for a short minute, before he looked up at the archer. “Say, what's a dragon's home like? I mean, I guess ya don’t live in a big cave, that’s for sure. Or maybe ya do, I dunno. But what's up with yer ‘residence’? Was it some kinda jail? Ya didn't sound too fond of it an' it's been buggin' me ever since.”

So the cowboy had noticed his discreet slip of the tongue. Although it had not been that subtle actually; he had stumbled on the word with as much discretion as an elephant on a plate.  
“My residence is the place where I live, but it does not feel like home at all. It never has, and I have no intent of changing that.” Hanzo sighed, eyes gazing at the flames without seeing them.  
McCree hummed thoughtfully. “Guess I know what that feels like. In that case, what's home like for ya pardner?  
\- It-” He started, unsure. Should he speak of Hanamura? The mere reminiscence brought up nothing but bitterness and hints of regret.  
But he could not improvise himself a hometown, he was too tired to do so.  
“It is a village, high up on a hill. There are cherry blossoms in the spring, a sight of such splendor it must be seen to be believed.” He whispered, briefly allowing himself to smile as he remembered the beautiful springs he had witnessed. “I miss it dearly, but I will never return. There is nothing there for me anymore. Nothing but misery and ruins.”  
He did not actually know if the Shimada estate was still standing or not. Now that the clan was no more, it should normally have become property of the city. There was a chance it would remain for its historical value, but it could also have been demolished to erase the traces of the once powerful family that ruled over the town.

Either way, Hanzo did not want to find out.

McCree simply nodded in response, probably unsure about what to say after approaching such a sensitive subject. Hanzo had no ire against the cowboy's curiosity, even if it brought back the dreadful nostalgia of his lost home.  
“What about you cowman? What is home like for you?” He asked, returning his gaze to Jesse. His face lightened up, the cowboy a little relieved to resume the conversation.  
“A ranch kinda like this one, only smaller with lotsa chickens an' a couple horses. But I left it to join Deadlock and never got to set a foot there ever again. Durin' these times I was jus’ happy whenever I had a warm place with a roof.” The cowboy sighed, scratching through his beard in recollection. “Now I do have a place I can call home, but I still miss the roof that saw me bein’ born… I was an overhasty critter, my ma couldn’t make it to the hospital. She had to deliver me in the stables.” He added when Hanzo raised an eyebrow.  
“That explains so much about you.” The archer jested, making McCree guffaw.

“Ya know, in the end, home's where the heart is.” The cowboy concluded once he was done chuckling. “Mine stays with me constantly when I move around, so I don’t get homesick. I guess yers would be on top o' the hill?  
\- No.” Hanzo replied a bit too fast, his mood embittering. “My heart is broken. One half I drag around, the other stays by the side of the person I care for the most.”  
His face must have soured too, for McCree looked genuinely sorry. “Shit darlin', didn't mean to poke right where it hurts.”   
\- It is fine, do not apologize for being curious. I would have been perplexed if you had blindly agreed to let a stranger walk with you without inquiring about them once. The pet names however? You have been throwing around an awful lot of them for the past hours.  
\- Sorry, sorry, slips of the tongue! Was kinda hopin' ya'd let ‘em slide 'ventually.” McCree chuckled, tipping his hat backward to rub his forehead.

“Maybe one day I will get too blasé to bother.” Hanzo sighed, smiling a little bit. “But do try to remember until then. It is bothersome that you throw these words around so casually.  
\- I'll try. But don't hesitate pullin' me up if I slip again.”  
The archer dared not ask what 'pulling him up' meant, but what his brain conjured made his ears flush. To hide his unease, he looked back at the fire. “So. What were you doing exactly, after getting the junkers in jail and before our fateful meeting?  
\- Well as ya know, I was a bounty hunter. Brought folks to justice, more or less unharmed. I did let a few slip through my fingers time to time ‘cause I ain't the guy who's gonna put one wanted for stealin' food or money for their starvin’ family in jail. A proper warnin' is usually enough to send 'em back on the right tracks. But the really rotten ones, the murderers an’ big bank robbers an’ rapists an’ all that scum… The big fishes basically, they get the net an' a fuckin' mean hook if they wriggle too much.”

When Hanzo's very first impression of the bounty hunter had been the one of a predator, he had perhaps not been completely wrong. “If you treat the petty criminals so kindly, why did you not leave me be?  
\- Nothin' against ya Shimada, but yer blank poster was not a clear proof of innocence.” Jesse replied while stirring the fire. “Now, when I found ya all lost, thirsty an’ spooked, I legit wondered if ya weren't some poor fellah who got wrapped up in some crazy scheme. Once ya'd woken up however? Ya had some teeth an’ ya stared at me with yer deep dark eyes, like ya were tryin’ to kill me with a single sharp stare.” He sounded almost wistful as he said this. “An' later on, there was the way ya threatened the sheriff with yer bow without even blinkin' or tremblin'. Could tell that it wasn't the first time ya had a man under yer aim. In fact I'm dead-on certain that if ya had to shoot him, ya would've done it without a second thought.”

Hanzo threw a discreet look at McCree and was startled to find the cowboy staring back. He maintained the eye contact without faltering, even though being scrutinized made him uncomfortable.  
“Now, ya didn't kill no one, even when they were huntin' us down like a pack of wolves after a couple rabbits. I think it's a mighty proof that ya're a decent folk. An' while I'd really like to know what the hell it is ya did to earn yerself a poster, an’ how the heck ya, or whoever did it, managed to smuggle a chest in yer cell… I ain't gonna press. Even if on the other hand, ya do actually know the reasons why I'm wanted.  
\- Thank you for your understanding.” Hanzo whispered, careful not to show the full extent of his relief. “I can tell you at least that I have done things in the past that I am not proud of, crimes I fear I could never atone for, no matter how hard I try. I have turned my back on my family, then committed a wrongdoing that has left me bleeding continuously ever since. I still pay for it nowadays, and I shall keep on paying it until the day I die.”

A heavy silence followed, during which McCree took a cigar out of his pocket. He wedged it between his teeth, but did not light it. “Man… That's gotta be tough.” He finally muttered with a sympathetic wince.  
“It is. But I am doing everything in my power to make amends. Whether this journey is a punishment or a chance for redemption, I will pursue it to its very end no matter what awaits for us.  
\- Amen.” Jesse hummed. “You an’ me, we'll get there 'ventually.  
\- If we do not despite having the map, I am blaming you for not bringing a compass.  
\- Ya’re the one who found the map sweetheart, ya should’ve brought a compass.  
\- I think you mispronounced Shimada once again.” Hanzo smirked, throwing a pebble at the cowboy.

Jesse dodged, grinning like a fool. That was until he abruptly paused, the amusement sucked out from his face.  
Before Hanzo could ask what was wrong, the cowboy took Peacekeeper out and aimed at him.  
“McCree?” Hanzo whispered, shocked. He could not believe what he was seeing, and yet the barrel of a gun was truly staring back at him.

“Don't move darlin'. Don’t ya move a single hair or make a sound. If ya can hold yer breath, do it.” The cowboy spoke slowly.  
Hanzo finally realized what was occurring. His ears perked up and he perceived a faint hiss right by his shoulder, so discreet it had been muted until this tensed silence.  
He had to fight the overwhelming instinct of looking at whatever was making the noise, especially when it ventured dangerously close to his ear. Something brushed the shell of his ear and he had to repress a quiver.

“Ya might wanna close yer eyes for this.” McCree whispered.  
Hanzo knew what the cowboy was about to do. He knew a centimeter off might result in his ear being blown off, or death if he were to be so unlucky.  
“No.” He finally choked out, eyes fixed on the gun. Should death be coming, he preferred to stare at it in the face.  
“A'right.” Jesse said, his index moving near the trigger. And then without further warning, he fired.

Hanzo jolted, both ears ringing. It was the first time he heard Peacekeeper fire, and it was simply loud in the confined space.  
However he did not feel the bite of a bullet, nor did he die.  
All he felt was something heavy slumping against his shoulder.

McCree rushed over to him, the smoking gun already back in its holster. He reached for Hanzo's shoulder and pulled away the limp corpse of a large snake. It was dark, almost as fat as the archer's arm and probably as long as his height. In its gaping maw, there were fangs the size of his thumb.  
Its tail slipped down from the archer's shoulder onto his chest, making him shiver in disgust.

“I'm sorry for shootin' ya big guy, but ya shouldn't have tried to kill my pardner jus’ now.” McCree whispered remorsefully as he gathered the creature in his arms. He rested the corpse aside and looked back at the petrified archer. “Uh, I'm also very sorry for shootin' at ya darl-fuck-Shimada. I probably gave ya one hell of a fright.  
\- You could say that.  
\- I was worried ya'd freak out, or he'd freak out an' bite ya either way.” He pointed at the snake. “That thing's super lethal. Bite in the foot can be salvable if ya cut the foot off, but anywhere in the neck or chest area's pretty much a death sentence. That's a real danger an' I know ya've already yelled at me for actin' too fast but there was really no time an'…” The cowboy started rambling while Hanzo remained still.

Even though adrenaline flowed through his veins, he felt calm.  
That brief sting of shock he had felt when McCree had aimed at him had felt so intense, so brutal. And it had been washed away with a different threat and actual relief that he had not been the target.   
He felt absolutely no ire against the cowboy, even though being held at gunpoint was an offense that he would have punished with death back in the days.  
“It is alright, I am fine.” He finally said, putting an end to the flow of apologies. “However, should you ever pull something like this without a warning, I will make you eat your boots. With the soles and noisy spurs included.”

The threat did not put McCree off one bit, the cowboy sheepishly removing his hat. “Darlin', I swear I didn't mean to spook ya. 'Specially after that couple o' dingoes made ya think I'd betray ya.” He deplored, hat against his chest as he knelt by Hanzo's side. “I'm very sorry. If that's of any consolation, I'll let ya eat it.”  
He reached for the snake and raised it toward the archer like it was some kind of offering, giving Hanzo ample time to see the bullet wound in the square middle of its head; that testified of a skilled accuracy.  
Or a very lucky shot, which Hanzo strongly hoped it was not the case.

“I accept your apology. But if you value your life, keep your snake to yourself.” He retorted, quirking a brow at the corpse. “I may be a dragon, it does not mean I do not have taste.”  
Jesse smiled goofily and snickered for a brief second, before he scolded his expression down. “I was 'bout to say somethin' real crass, but I held myself back for ya. Thought I should tell ya.” He grinned as he stood, placing the Stetson back on top of his head and moving the snake next to the fire. “Ya're sure ya don't wanna have a piece o' this? It's pretty tasty if cooked right an' there's plenty for the two of us.  
\- I am sure I do not wish to eat anything that comes from this place, really.  
\- Ain't gonna press ya, it makes all the more for me!” The cowboy hummed enthusiastically, unsheathing his knife.

Hanzo could not help but cringe. “You really are going to eat this?  
\- Really it ain’t bad.” McCree shrugged. “Usually I try to find somethin' edible that ain't alive, but some days ya gotta kill an' eat what ya can find. 'Specially in the desert. Besides, this li’l critter’s already dead. I can’t resurrect him as much as I wish I could, so it’s better to give his death a purpose. Besides, that skin? I think I could make somethin’ pretty with it.  
\- If you say so… I am not going to stop you as long as you do not insist I try it.”

While Jesse was busy with the preparation and cooking of the reptile, Hanzo felt his eyelids growing heavy. In the time span of one dream, he had been through almost too much; this entire day had been incredibly hectic, more than the time they escaped jail and fled town. And that evasion had gone over two nights with an interlude!

When the cowboy started humming a soft tune he secretly enjoyed, Hanzo's drowsiness became much stronger. He leaned against the floor, resting on his right shoulder with his back wedged against the crate. The hay was not as uncomfortable as it looked, it was in fact the most cozy ground they had slept on since they left McCree's shack.

In spite of his tiredness, the archer felt content. They were safe and sound, their quest was still going, and he was looking forward to write down this eventful dream.  
However there was a fleeting interrogation that remained on his mind, refusing to let it fully shutdown.  
If he did not indulge his curiosity now, he doubted the question would not keep haunting him the moment he woke up.

“McCree?” The archer muttered sleepily.  
The cowboy paused, humming inquisitively. “What is it Shimada?  
\- What does the J stand for?” He asked over the crackling flames.  
Jesse chewed down on his cigar, thoughtfully gazing at the fire. “Justice.” He finally replied, before he returned his attention back to the grilling snake and picked his song right from the beginning.

With a smile on his lips, Hanzo closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed Hanzo's shitty life, it's coming right back in next chapter, same Mctime, same Mcsite~ c( ᐛ 」∠)＿


	20. Reality Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought Hanzo's day in the woods was bad? Buckle in for Hanzo's Life Sucks : Revengeance ™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? Welcome back for a new chapter (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)  
> For starters, thank y'all for the nice comments and the kudos! They kept me alive throughout these last couple weeks when my work rhythm has been pretty erratic and I am sincerely grateful for your support.
> 
> Also a billion thanks to the peeps who pointed out a few errors I made in my work. Your input allowed me to fix plenty of stuff I either missed or did not know about ʕ^ᴥ^❀ʔ
> 
> I had to rush a little bit through that chapter, so I really hope there are no mistakes. Should you find one, don't hesitate reporting it so I can fix it ASAP ٩(•̤̀ᵕ•̤́๑)૭✧
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's the link to the doodles I made for this update~.](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/163611415061/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-arisen-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, enjoy~ (｡◕‿◕｡)

Upon waking up, Hanzo instinctively reached for the back of his skull.  
He knew he would have found no wounds whatsoever since he had dreamed it all. But after the vivid pain experienced all ‘last night’, he had honestly excepted to find something.  
While his head still hurt a little and his back was vaguely sore, there were no physical signs of the undergone traumas.  
Feeling strangely overwhelmed, he left the warmth of the blanket and rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Trying to establish a cause to effect relationship between his fictional adventures and the real world seemed like a rather bizarre idea. Only his first dream had implied that there might be a dynamic at work; the insolation he had experienced in the desert could have been the manifestation of the flu outbreak that had occurred while he slept.  
The concussion had no plausible cause in reality. Falling from his bed was impossible considering that his futon was on the very floor, and it was placed too far from the walls to knock his head against in his sleep.  
The bark splinters in his back also had no explanation whatsoever. The skin presented no rash, only the usual creases caused by the wrinkles in his sheets.  
Thus what affected in real life should hypothetically affect him similarly in his dreams, and vice-versa should the stress caused by the dreams be intense enough to affect his body.

Of course Hanzo was aware that this reasoning was borderline delusional; his first dream could have merely coincided with the flu outbreak. A sensible thought, yet he could not help but feel drawn to the concept of his dreams having a greater influence than they should; he believed less in coincidences than the dragon legends he had heard throughout his childhood, and the dreams were already such an oddity in his life that he would not be surprised that their impact extended that far.

While a short hot shower soothed the soreness of his back, the headache lingered. Hanzo having not eaten much last night, he was in dire need of energy. However there was so much content to write down, he was not sure he would have the time for breakfast before leaving for the city.  
The most reasonable thing to do would be either waiting till this afternoon to complete his compendium, or taking the time spent on public transports to write his dream down in a notebook. But on one hand he feared he would forget precious details after spending the day out and, on the other hand, he absolutely despised scribbling while being surrounded by strangers. He had done so a few times in the past and every time some nosey parkers had tried to gaze over his shoulder in order to get a glimpse of his notes, no matter which language he was using. He could concede that Japanese writing was fascinating, but it did not make him less paranoid and peeved by the staring.

In the end Hanzo opted for a compromise; while hastily drinking a hot tea and snacking on an unpeeled apple, he typed absolutely everything that had occurred during the dream. It was not much, but it should do until noon hopefully.

While most of these events experienced during the night had been unpleasant, all of it was exciting in hindsight. The writer took pleasure in narrating the entirety of the misadventure no matter how much he had suffered through it in the first place, although Junkrat's dialog was more difficult to transcribe than McCree's.  
He ended up using an online dictionary of Australian slang and wished he could have kicked the scrawny blond a second time upon checking the signification of some of the terms.

Finally it was with an unveiled enthusiasm that he added a last note to the entry:

“I am now all too aware that Jesse McCree is in fact a most decent individual. Our unfortunate encounter with the junkers was his chance to abandon me to my fate and seek out the treasure on his own. An opportunity on a silver platter. And yet he did not take it, instead going through the trouble of bargaining with these people to let me go.  
Of course he had nothing to lose since he was never going to give away the map, but he could always have gotten rid of me in the process. I was overly disagreeable to him on several occasions and so poorly receptive to his flirting, I would not have been surprised if he had grown tired of our partnership in spite of everything he told me.  
And yet he did not abandon me.  
I strongly regret doubting his word based on McCree's dealings with the junkers, for I know better than assuming people never change. The way his past haunts him is something I am all too familiar with. I should feel honored that he finds my life worthy to be saved.

When he took aim at me, or rather at the reptile looming over my shoulder, the short-lived shock that I felt had a similar intensity to the one I felt in my youth, when the Elders were pressing to urgently salvage the honor of our family and restore my little brother's through death.  
To experience such a feeling because of the cowman is the blatant proof that he has a certain importance to me. Whether I want it or not, I am now attached to this man, and I can confidently declare that I trust him. He has proven his worth not only in his words, but also in his actions.

Now I am unsure if eating a snake is something a balanced person would enjoy, especially after removing themselves its viscera and bones.  
Of course I might be mistaken and missing a delectable dish, not to mention that McCree's point is very valid; one cannot be picky when food is scarce and starvation rampant. But it does not make me any less glad that I feel no hunger in my dreams, for I have never tasted snake flesh and would rather not under any circumstances.  
There is also no accounting for taste. I myself enjoy nattō for breakfast, a dish made of fermented soybeans. In fact it has been so long since I had any that I might find it unpalatable now.  
Snake meat cooked over a charcoal fire by a cowboy would most likely seem more appealing to most people in comparison.

Among the interpretations I made in my previous entry, I would like to add one about the canyons, or the pursuit on horseback rather than the place itself.  
I thought about it and realized that I put my life in McCree’s hands at that moment. I let him take us through this rocky maze while I was fending off the mob hunting us down. My only lifeline during this mad run was his hand holding my belt.  
It happened about a week since our first meeting. I did not start trusting either Gabriel or Jack until two months after our first meeting.  
When was the last time I readily placed my life into hands other than my own? Especially in a stranger's hand all the more?  
After my mother's death and before leaving Hanamura, I would not let a doctor take care of me on the hypothesis they might be assassins or incompetent. My father himself had to dig a bullet out of me one day. That is how much of an exploit my relying on the cowboy to keep us alive during the pursuit was.”

He first hesitated about completing that story right now, as it was getting off topic. Then he decided instead to add an asterisk to the sentence and address it in a footnote later.

“I did write about how friends are known first in hardships on the very morning after this event, but I considered McCree as ‘almost a friend’ back then. I had not even begun to think about the symbolic aspect behind these dreams yet.  
This is not solely about friendship, a concept which I am still unsure I correctly grasp nowadays. Trusting someone with your life without expecting something in return goes beyond that.  
I saved his life and he saved mine in return, and we never asked for anything in return. Although that kiss in the woods has to count for something, unless he was just getting back at me for yelling. I worry I will get used to his outrageous flirting at some point. The implications could turn out catastrophic for the both of us.

I suppose McCree expects to have his share of the treasure once we find it, but he is just as clueless as I am on its nature. And nothing obligated us to disclose any details about our background, although it might be my mind progressively building this character that popped out of nowhere. I still doubt I could conscientiously create such a man in the first place, for I have never written any of my characters as unrefined, bigger-than-life and brash fools with secretly complex personalities and big hearts.

On a side note, I have written so many pages that I might as well give this work a proper title. While I am not planning to ever release this to the public, 'untitled.doc' is very disheartening; it is a constant reminder that this document used to be a single blank page I would stare at for hours without a single clue of what to write above.  
Below are listed the different ideas that came to my mind:  
\- The Archer and the Cowboy → too generic for my taste.  
\- Nightmares and Dreamscapes → I am almost positive this is an existing title.  
\- Hanzo Shimada : dream memoir → too exclusive considering these entries are more centered on McCree than myself alone.  
\- Parody of Macaroni Western featuring a country-spouting ignominy and a tall glass of trouble → not a serious suggestion obviously, I believe not to be mistaken if I assume it is a suggestion McCree would make and I just wanted to see how it looked on paper.  
\- Two fools on a quest → we are both fools in a way. But a quest for what? Having not a clue on the nature of the treasure, this feels incomplete.  
\- Two fools on a journey → that one has a nice ring to it. The cowboy would agree with me.”

On impulse, he renamed the document and saved. Maybe he would have a change of heart later and need to search once again, but he might as well get rid of this 'untitled', which he could not endure to look on.  
Satisfied, he inserted the footnote and developed the bullet anecdote:

“*One night, outside of one of the many flashy and depraved nightclubs Hanamura has to offer, my brother caused a most ridiculous misunderstanding with a rival clan. It quickly degenerated into an attempt on his life and I was sent to retrieve him.  
While I was trying to get him in my car, I was shot from behind. I was not critically wounded thankfully, and I normally would have extracted the bullet myself.  
However it was lodged in a place I could neither reach easily nor see properly. Letting a doctor near me was out of the question and going to the hospital would have involved an administrative cover-up. Genji offered his assistance, but he was so drunk at the time that he could not hold a mirror straight and even less use pliers.  
I was close to give up and leave the bullet in, even if it meant taking a gamble on whether I would get a septic shock or not, when my father barged in. He stole the pliers from my hands, pulled the bullet out, then left as promptly as he came.  
We never talked about it afterward, and I could not say which one of us wanted to the least. I think my brother completely forgot about it, or else he would have never stopped reminding me of it every time he had the chance.”

He finally closed the document and was about to go wash the mug when a notification popped up on his screen.  
A new mail had appeared in his inbox, from ‘a fan’ as Hanzo had labelled the intricate address. He did not have much time left before leaving, but his curiosity was too great.  
He sat back down and clicked on the mail, his fingers impatiently drumming against the mouse pad as it loaded.

“ _Dear mister Shimada,_

_I managed to get my hands on the sequels and just finished reading them. You had me glued there, it's not often that I burn through a book so fast, even less two._

_Now, to be perfectly honest, the ending really bummed me out big time. Of course I didn't expect a happy ending, and I guess that's the norm in that kind of middle, but I didn't see Fujimi's death coming at all. It was heartbreaking._

_I’m actually contacting you again cause I’m curious. While you explain in the end notes of ‘ Bloodstained Chrysanthemums’ that this is where you stop your narration and let the readers imagine whatever became of Tetsunori, his children and the Kikuchi-Gumi, I would be really interested to hear your side of the story.  
If that is not too presumptuous of me, goodness gracious._

_If it is, I apologize and beg you to forget I ever asked.  
Sincerely yours,  
A nosy fan._”

The message left Hanzo intrigued, but frankly amused. The last sentence of the third paragraph especially made him smile. It was a direct quote from Fujimi, the portrayal of his mother. It was something she used to say during English business meetings.  
She had always meant it in an utterly sarcastic way, with a hint of pseudo timorousness; as the right arm of the head of the Shimada-Gumi, nothing could have been too presumptuous of her. Yet she had always seemed delighted to use this peculiar wording.

He remembered discreetly asking her why she acted so strangely in the middle a meeting. He had been ten at the time and slightly upset to see his dignified mother putting on simpering airs.  
 _“Because it makes them underestimate me musuko.” She had answered him while tapping the back of his hand, right before the foreign mobsters they were dealing with. They visibly did not understand a single word of Japanese and most likely believed she was admonishing her son for disrupting.  
“Some men never caught on that women can be masterminds. Your father did shortly after we met, but there are some out here that will never accept it, even when facing a powerful woman such as myself. Fooling with them is a personal pleasure of mine. They lower their guard, and it makes catching them by the throat all the more enjoyable, whether it is literally or figuratively.”  
She then had cupped his cheek, a rare sign of affection coming from her. “Promise me you will never do the mistake of disrespecting someone simply for their gender. It is important you do not forget this.  
\- I promise.” He had firmly nodded, his chest swelling with respect for his mother._

He realized now that he should have extended that valuable lesson onto attires, considering his first impressions regarding Jesse McCree.

He read the mail again and pondered; it had been a while since he wrote these books, there had to be enough hypotheses online to take an educated guess on the outcome of the characters. But this one stranger would rather go to the source. It was rather flattering  
He opened a reply and hastily typed an answer he hoped would be satisfying enough:

“ _Dear Sir or Madam,_

_Since it has been quite some time since I wrote these books and you have been so polite and pleasant, I see no harm in sharing with you the canon storyline of the Kikuchi family after ‘ Bloodstained Chrysanthemums’.  
I must warn you though; just like you mentioned in your previous mail, the end of this family and its empire is not a happy one._

_The downfall starts with Fujimi's death; she had become an essential pillar of the Gumi and meant a lot to her husband, despite the rocky start of their relationship.  
Deprived of his most trusted partner and all too aware that his legacy is at risk, Tetsunori decides to raise his children with the same iron hand that he used to rule over his empire. As the fate of the clan depends entirely on them, especially his firstborn Kazuki, he makes sure the boy becomes physically and mentally steeled, while the second son Haneki is left to do as he pleases.  
It causes the brotherly bound between the two sons to wither, one envious of the freedom he is not granted and the other feeling irremediably abandoned and lost.  
Death claims Tetsunori years after Fujimi; the stress and grief took a toll on his body, ultimately causing him to die in middle age.  
It might seem like a young age to pass away, but life is rather short in these middles._

_Being the firstborn and old enough, Kazuki prematurely becomes the head of the family. Although he has been groomed to take his father's place since birth, he is not yet mentally ready to take over the leadership of the clan. With no one to tame their thirst for power, the Elders attempt to manipulate the heir. Haneki is not blind to their schemes, but he wants nothing to do with the Gumi and puts this matter out of his hands.  
However his idle doings draw the ire of the Elders upon him, to the point they consider him as a liability more than a member of the family.  
Kazuki is first unaware of the conspiracy that weighs on his brother's life, until the Elders directly task him with repairing the family’s honor by killing him._

_Profoundly shocked, he remembers how much he valued family and what Haneki meant to him. In the end, he judges that his brother's life is worth more than the honor of the family.  
He attempts to reason the Elders, but they accuse him of being weak and imply they might vote to destitute him from his position.  
Aware that his life is also on the balance, Kazuki confronts Haneki. Together they leave the family and seeks out the asylum they so desperately need in another country. The authorities intercept them and accept they stay, in exchange of intel on the Gumi.  
Haneki knows little, but Kazuki had access to a lot of sensitive information during his short-lived leadership. He tells everything he knows, causing the dismantling of entire parts of the organization. Ultimately his collaboration causes the fall of the most powerful Yakuza group this age has known._”

Hanzo paused, pondering on whether his answer was too detailed or not.   
He had specifically ended the series after his mother's death for it had become too sensitive to write about, too close to home. Finishing the last book of the tryptic had felt less like a catharsis and more like a form of torture; it had been a difficult time of his life that he did not wish to revisit and even less talk about.  
He had thought about giving these characters a different story than the one they lived, in a sort of hypothetical alternative. What if Kazuki had remained blind? What if he had decided that killing Haneki was the only way?  
He had not dared venturing onto that path though, concerned that Genji would perceive in this the things he would not even acknowledge at the time; the regret of leaving home, his family and heritage, his father's empire, all for his little brother's sake.

“ _You are free to imagine what became of the brothers. In any case, they are no longer tied to their family's legacy._ ” He added eventually to mask his discomfort.

“ _All I ask of you is that you do not quote me or share this mail to anyone. I ended “Fifteen years of mutual hatred” right where I wanted to, and I worry that I would be asked to pursue the series should these details be released to the public._

 _Thank you once again for your understanding,  
Best regards,  
H. S._”

Hanzo sent the mail, then checked the time and groaned; he had taken too much time writing and now had to hurry if he wanted to catch his usual train. Going through the rush hour or not was all the matter of a few minutes. Even though he hated leaving a mess, the dirty dishes would have to wait tonight.  
He shut the laptop a little harsher than necessary, grabbed his belongings and ran all the way to the station.

–

Hanzo had caught the train just on time, but running in the freezing cold had left him an unpleasant side stitch that only stopped once he reached the editing house.

The writer had barely knocked on the door of his editors’ office that the door swung open. “Hello Hanzo!” Morrison grinned sunnily, welcoming him inside and already offering him a mug of hot tea. Reyes did not budge however, perfectly still with his forehead resting against the surface of the desk. He did acknowledged his presence with a noise that vaguely sounded like a grunt.

As Hanzo was too bemused by the complete polar-opposite greetings to react, Jack smiled sympathetically. “Don’t mind him, he had a rough night.” He said while pulling a chair for the writer to sit on.  
Gabriel raised his head from the desk, a dark spot on his forehead telling of how long he had been like this. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes and he looked unshaved. “Because of him.” He growled, pointing at the blond.  
“What do you mean because of me? You are the one who started.” Morrison exhaled, pouring an effervescent powder in a coffee mug and stirring it as silently as he could.  
“It is alright, I shall make this short.” Hanzo replied, still standing by the door with the steaming tea in one hand. His social skills may have downgraded to a deplorable level, he could still see an argument coming from miles away.

He was not so lucky; Reyes downed the mug handed to him in one go and slammed it on the desk. “Oh no you come in here and take a sit pedenjo. It's not your fault if _someone_ cheered me on last night.” He glared heavily at his husband, who just huffed and crossed his arms defensively.  
Hanzo had a bad feeling about this. “It is not a problem really, I-  
\- You started it Gabe, don't you put the blame on me.” Jack retorted. “Not my fault if you have a variable tolerance.  
\- Hey Golden Boy, you know where you can put my tolerance?  
\- Please!” Hanzo cut, scandalized. “This is already too much information. If you are going to fight about this right here and now, I am going to step outside and slip the poem under the door.”

He usually waited out the couple's bickering while trying to tune out the content of their dispute, especially when it became pretty graphic. But dealing with Jesse McCree had made him used to cut ineptitudes off in the blink of an eye.

Both men stared at him with wide eyes, making the writer wonder if he had not overstepped his boundaries. He was just about to apologize when Morrison beat him to it:  
“You are right Hanzo, I apologize for making you uncomfortable. It's not what you think though, we just had a pretty boozy dinner last night.” The older man chuckled while the writer discreetly sighed in relief. Then he turned to Gabriel, looking truly apologetic “I apologize to you too Gabe. You're right, I should have stopped you.”

The way Reyes's face softened was a rare, undocumented sight. “It's not your fault. I know I've got my limits and I still stomp over them. Just stop standing there like an idiot and get your ass here already.”  
The moment the blond plopped down on his chair, Gabriel pulled him closer. The couple exchanged a brief kiss, while Hanzo politely pretended that the content of his bag was more interesting to inspect.

“So!” Gabriel clasped his hands together, suddenly invigorated. “How's our little poet doing? What did you bring us this time?”

The writer offered his work, a little nervous.  
He had described the decayed forest in his first draft, which had inspired him to build the entire poem on the metaphor of a sick mind. Then he had tried to sweeten it a little by introducing an unspecified entity seeking to restore the woods' greatness, because the second draft had seemed too close to being a testament on depression.

The way Reyes frowned over the poem was not very promising, but that was the man's usual expression. There were days Hanzo wondered if he had not been frowning from the day he was born.  
Jack's face was a little more open thankfully, and he seemed far from displeased by his work. “Very nice.” He hummed, looking up at Hanzo. “However it's, how can I put this… It would be best if we saved it for the week after, because we are thinking about making a special number on the environment and this would absolutely fit with one of the articles we have in mind.  
\- I see.” The writer muttered, split. At least the poem was not an issue in itself, but he dreaded the implication of 'saving it' for later. “I suppose you would need another poem for the next issue?  
\- You guessed right.” Gabriel nodded. “You don't have one up your sleeve by any chance?”

Hanzo's thoughts immediately turned to the backup submission in his bag.  
He knew he could not hand that one over without causing a hassle; it was too grim, too personal. But he also knew he could not make up a poem on the spot.  
He hesitantly handed over the written note, hoping his superiors would disregard the messily written kanjis and kanas in the margin or the wrinkles where he had gripped the paper too hard.

“This is some dark shit.” Reyes unsurprisingly commented with his usual frankness. However the worried gaze he threw at Hanzo was unfamiliar. “Is that one recent? From your latest works I thought you were doing better-  
\- Oh, no, it is a little dated actually.” The writer immediately lied, careful not to let his face or voice betray his discomfort. “It was a draft from my “Baudelaire's spiral of despair” period, I kept it because I was satisfied of how it came out and I did not have the heart to bin it.  
\- I really said that? Ah, it doesn't matter. It's pretty sombre and edgy, but I like it.  
\- Why am I not surprised?” Jack chuckled. “It's alright Hanzo, you are doing us a big favor right now, we are not going to be fussy about plan B. Still… Are you sure you are okay?”

Hanzo looked straight into the man's blue eyes. “Yes, I am.” He replied with a small smile, while his grip on the teacup tightening imperceptibly.

–

“Do you feel a need when you take the medication? Not as in you require it to sleep, but to function properly? Have you felt like the usual schedule or dosage was inefficient?” Ana asked quite casually, as if they were discussing of something as mundane as the weather.  
If this was the polite way of asking if he was developing an addiction or a tolerance yet, it was still rather forward. Then again, doctor Amari never passed through four paths.

“No, I have not.” Hanzo assured confidently.  
He did not crave for the pills in themselves per say, he was more interested in the content of his dreams. He dared not try to sleep without taking the medication because he dreaded the insomnia would abruptly return, and he knew better than changing the dosage without consulting Ana first.  
Yet it somehow felt like he was lying by omission, and it was quite unpleasant.

Apparently satisfied with his answer, Ana pursued her questioning. “Have you experienced any of the symptoms I warned you about?  
\- Nauseas perhaps. But I must confess that I have been cutting back on food lately.” The writer replied without thinking.  
He immediately regretted his honesty; the older woman frowned, her eye scrutinizing his face. “You should not Hanzo. Nauseas and changes in appetite are potential side-effects. As you were recently ill, you have to take extra good care of yourself.”  
Her caring was so off-putting. They had known each other for four years and the writer still had not gotten used to it.  
“I drink plenty of water.” He added on a lighter tone to try and fix his faux-pas.

The moment Ana stood from her chair and gestured at him to follow her, he knew he had lost. “Could you remove your top layers and shoes, then step on the scale please?” She asked, leading him to the examination corner of her office.  
Hanzo winced uncomfortably; the removal of his jacket was all it took to make him feel exposed. But he obliged nonetheless.  
He did not own a scale, but he knew he lost weight since his last medical evaluation; he had become bony in places, the outline of his ribs apparent on certain areas of his torso and his cheeks thinner for instance. But he hoped the muscle mass he had maintained with his regular Kyūdō practice would make up for the loss.

He kept his arms crossed over his chest as he stood on the scale and let the woman measure his height, unable to shed his prudishness the same way he did when he dropped a sleeve to use his bow. McCree probably had no idea of how lucky he was to have seen half of his chest and his back.  
“Let's see… Your BMI puts you just at the margin between the normal range and underweight categories.” Ana said once she was done calculating. “To be honest, it would have been preferable for your index to be in the middle of the normal range. But this result is a little better than what I expected.  
\- Because you were expecting something else?  
\- A common sign of depression is eating too little or too much. With the sharp cheekbones you sport, the first case was more likely. Do you have three meals a day?”

He did occasionally. Most of the time one of the three was skipped.  
Breakfast, like this morning for example, when he lacked the time to have a proper one or woke up too nauseous to stomach food.  
Lunch more rarely, since he got up so early that he became ravenous way before noon daily.  
Dinner however was something he had missed a fair amount of times, because he often felt so sad he could not fathom eating. And not having much money dedicated to his needs made it difficult to have a balanced diet.  
“Yes. But I merely try to stay fit.” He lied through his teeth. Just how many more untruths would he have to spew before he could return home? He had already lost the count.

He could tell his reply made Ana skeptical, but she did not refute it. “A healthy goal. Be careful though, you have no need to lose weight. In fact, with this winter, you ought to protect your body with a bit of fat.  
\- I suppose so.” Hanzo muttered absently. For a puzzling reason, the thought of McCree cooking the dead snake popped up in his head. The smell had not been that bad on second thought, but he still would not want to try it.

The woman waited for him to put his clothes back on before continuing her line of questioning. “Are you still unwilling to seek out an appropriate treatment for your psyche?  
\- Yes.” He answered without a pause or a hint of hesitation. Finally an absolute truth!  
“Hanzo.” The woman sighed, visibly saddened by his obstinacy. The look on her face made him feel all the more guilty to pursue on an indecent string of lies:  
“I have it under control, doctor Amari.” He did not really, or rather not at all to be honest with himself. “Getting my hours of sleep back has done me good.” It had improved his nights quite drastically, so much so he had been looking forward to the end of the day after four years of nightmares and insomnia. But it definitely had not fixed the problem.

“Well, if you have a change of heart, you can call me at any time.” She sincerely offered.

–

Even though Hanzo wanted to return home the moment he stepped out of the doctor’s office, he decided against it. He still had to attend Tekhartha's session later in the afternoon, but he also had something else on his mind.  
On further consideration, he was going to visit Genji today too. He had been thinking more often about him lately, probably because of the inexorable end of the year; seeing him more than one time a month might help with his grieving spell.

When Hanzo reached Genji's room, he was caught off-guard; there was someone in the room, and they were not a doctor. As they had their back turned to the door, he could not see their face.  
The writer swallowed; he had always been cautious to visit during work hours, so the chances of running into Genji's friends stayed null.  
But his bus had been delayed, and now he would have to confront whoever this person was. Of course he could silently sneak out of the room and wait until they left, but he felt uncomfortable leaving Genji alone with a stranger.

So he stayed frozen in the doorway instead, uncomfortably staring until the intruder felt watched and turned around to face him.  
He should have retreated, for it was the last person he would have expected to meet by his brother's bedside, and one of the last persons Hanzo ever wanted to meet in this hospital, right after Angela.

Zenyatta Tekhartha was standing by Genji's bed, a couple of golden orbs in his hand. Hanzo had failed to recognize him, for the man wore a long coat over his robe and had covered his bald head with a woolen cap to protect himself from the winter.  
In spite of these, he seemed utterly out of place.

“Greetings Hanzo.” Zenyatta bowed his head respectfully. “I apologize if my presence caught you off guard-  
\- What are you doing here?” Hanzo abruptly asked, stepping inside while staying as far as he could from the monk. A voice in the back of his head scolded him for being so discourteous, but he royally ignored it and focused on the monk instead, the same way he would on an opponent in a fight.  
If Zenyatta was offended by his lack of politeness, he did an excellent job at hiding it. “I came here to pay your brother my respect.” He replied with a peaceful smile.  
The man could have been tranquility incarnated, there was no way Hanzo could simply relax around him. “You know my brother? I do not believe I ever mentioned his existence in your presence.” He said, taking one step toward the monk.

Any man should have felt threatened by now, but Zenyatta seemed completely oblivious to his aggressiveness. “We met shortly before his regrettable accident. He attended one of my sessions and asked if he could visit the Shambali monastery.” The monk lowered his gaze to Genji, lightly brushing his scarred hand. “He did not tell you?”

Hanzo desperately scrambled his mind, trying to remember if his brother had mentioned anything about Tekhartha or going to a monastery of all things. There had been times when he had completely tuned out his brother’s chatter in order to focus on his work, causing him to become irritated or distraught.  
“I do not remember.” He finally replied through clenched teeth. Then he gestured at the orbs Zenyatta was holding. “What were you doing exactly?  
\- Channeling, mister Shimada. Through the act of meditation, I reached out to your brother's mind.” The monk hummed, shifting the orbs in his hand. The metallic spheres tinted together, making a most melodious sound that did not reach the writer's ears.

Hanzo clenched his hands into fists, anger surging through his veins. Hearing such a ludicrous thing regarding Genji, especially coming from someone he already highly disliked, put him in a state of pure rage.  
Had it just been the two of them, he would have replied with all the vitriol he could muster, if not thrown the monk out manu militari forthwith.

But for his brother’s sake, he had to stay in control. Whether Genji could hear him or not, he was not going to do anything that might upset him.  
So instead he stayed remotely polite and composed. “I would like to have a moment alone with my brother. So could you go channeling somewhere else?” He asked with a spectacularly still voice in spite of his seething wrath.  
If the monk had not noticed he was unwelcome until now, he definitely had now for he stopped smiling. After delicately putting the orbs in his pocket and patting Genji's hand a couple times, he stepped away from the bed and calmly made his exit.  
As he passed by Hanzo, he gave him a polite bow to which the writer vaguely replied with a non-committing twitch of his head.

When the door closed, the writer slackened his body. He opened his fists; where the nails had been digging hard in his palms, red crescent moons now decorated the skin.  
He tried to stifle the outrage roaring at his ears to no avail; what right did this man have to intrude on Genji and do whatever religious ritual he did on his unconscious victim? Who did he think he was?

As much as he did not want to interact with Angela, he needed to have a word with her. This was _intolerable_.

Forcefully shoving the anger down for the time being, he did his inspection of the flowers, removing the withered ones a bit too bluntly. Once he was done, he took a seat by Genji's bed and spent the following hour trying to find a subject to monologue about.  
As he found none, he just held his brother’s hand and silently prayed for his recovery, eyes closed so he could be spared the haunting sight of the disfigured face.

–

Just as he left Genji's room, he found Angela in the corridor. She was discussing with a patient and a couple he assumed were the patient's relatives. She noticed him, but made no attempt to end her discussion sooner.  
So Hanzo waited, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and observing her posture and expression. She seemed so different around other people; friendly, warm, compassionate… But then, these people had probably not put their own kin into a hospital bed.

Once she had exchanged handshakes with them and accompanied the patient back into their room, she walked up to him. Any trace of the warmth she had demonstrated earlier was gone. “Mister Shimada.” She acknowledged him coolly, looking down her nose at him. How could she stand working in high heels all day?  
“Doctor Ziegler. Let us skip the niceties.” Hanzo dismissed. “I need to have a private talk with you.  
\- I would rather discuss with you right in this very hall.” She replied, unimpressed.  
The writer raised a critical eyebrow. “I insist we go somewhere more quiet.  
\- I insist we have our talk right here.” She retorted, hints of her animosity transpiring through her cold front.

Hanzo looked around; the corridor was busy, although not overly crowded. Perhaps Angela mistrusted him and thought he might snap at her behind closed doors, but he was already too angered to be upset by her wariness.  
“Fine.” He grunted. “Why does a monk have permission to visit my brother?”  
She looked puzzled for a split second, before she rapidly connected the dots. “I assume you are talking about mister Tekhartha? He introduced himself as one of Genji's friends. Need I remind you that you authorized family and friends to visit?  
\- Visiting, yes. Performing rituals without my consent? I do not think so.  
\- Ah, so that is what this is about.” She openly sighed, pausing to push an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. “Mister Tekhartha asked for my permission. After briefing me on what he wanted to perform, I saw no harm in letting him. On a religious point of view, this can only be beneficial for your brother.  
\- Beneficial? What good could it possibly do to a comatose patient? Besides my brother does not believe in his nonsense.” Hanzo argued with a bit more bite than he intended.

“Are you certain? Mister Tekhartha seems to know him well from what he told me.” Angela replied, staring at him dead in the eyes. The guts of that woman would have amazed him if he had not been so furious. “To be frank with you, I do not have the time to solve your issues with religion, mister Shimada. If you have a problem with mister Tekhartha, I suggest you go and have a _civilized_ talk with him.  
\- If this establishment is so careless about who walks in and out on a comatose patient, maybe Genji should be transferred somewhere else.” Hanzo barked at her nose.

The words had slipped out of spite, before he could think them through and hold them back. He immediately regretted them, but he could not take them back.  
Angela was moved, her cool mask vanishing and her face now animated with open outrage. He had not seen her like this since, since…

_“I am not responsible for your brother’s state, mister Shimada. Your reckless self-medication caused it.”_

“If you prefer to sacrifice Genji's care over petty religious intolerance, so be it. There are plenty of establishments in this town, cheaper too. But you chose to keep his brother here, because we are the best equipped to deal with his medical condition and provide more care and comfort to our patients than any other establishment does.  
You could always have changed hospitals for economical reasons, but you never did even though it is well-known that you struggle with each payment.” Her voice went up in volume, some of the medical staff freezing in their activities to stare.  
“If you do want to do this anymore, I am not going to stop you! As much as I would like to see Genji recover, his departure would mean a bed is free for another patient in need. And believe me, they are a lot of people in need. In the end, mister Shimada, the one to pay for your opinion will not be me; it will be your brother!”

The silence that followed was deafening.  
That was why Hanzo had wanted their conversation to be private; they had caused a scene in which he was not going to walk out victorious. In fact, he would rather not have to walk out at all, for Angela was obviously, dead-on right. He could not agree more with her, though he would never admit so in front of her.

They maintained eye contact, until the doctor's pager started beeping in her breast pocket. As she checked it, Hanzo let his shoulders sag. He had been so mad every centimeter of his body had automatically prepared for combat again.  
“I am needed somewhere else. If you can take a suggestion, then I suggest you return home and think about what is best for your brother.” She said as she walked passed him without a single glance.

“I have always thought about it.” He retaliated at her back, despising the way his voice wavered.

–

Upon leaving the main entrance, Hanzo found Tekhartha waiting for him.  
Despite the chilling wind and the snowflakes coming down, his blood boiled at the sight of the monk. The presence of vigils on the other side of the hospital doors and the people passing by on the street were the only reason he had not leaped on the man this instant.

“If you need to talk outside of therapy, I am always ready to listen.” Zenyatta offered, unaware he had been this close to meet a terrible fate.  
“Stop pestering me. I already have to attend your sessions against my own will, what makes you think I would confide to you?” The writer scolded, already walking away.  
The monk unfortunately did not take the hint, following him. “You need help Hanzo. You cannot bear this weight on your shoulders any longer.  
\- Who are you to say such things? Even if I did need help, I would not want yours or your ill-placed pity. Or anyone's for that matter.” Hanzo quipped, not slowing down.  
“Not even your friends’?”

He had to briefly pause in order not to stumble; he did rely heavily on his friends, that he could not deny. “I let them because I trust them and I will make it up to them.” He finally retorted. “But I do not want their help any more than yours.  
\- What do you want then?  
\- I want my brother back, that’s what I want!” He burst, anger swarming through the floodgate. “The time I spend at your sessions is nothing but wasted! None of your nonsense is going to bring him out of his coma, and I do not have the luxury of time!  
\- The way you spend your time does not impact your brother-  
\- Oh it does! I have his hospital bill on my back and, for that matter, I need to get back to my work!  
\- Your devotion is admirable, but it will not pull Genji out of his state any faster than my prayers or yours. Hanzo… At this rate, you will burn yourself out. Now is not too late to ask for help. I urge you, no, I beg you to reach out before you find yourself cornered. You are only human after all.”

Roaring fury pounded in his head, along with the urge of hurting the pitying face. But he let none of it transpire, waiting until he had regained his self-control before he spoke.  
“I do not know how deep your relationship with my brother is, but you will stay away from me if you do not want me to put an end to it.” He finally declared. “Starting from today, I will no longer attend your sessions. If you dare bring it up to the Morrison-Reyes’ attention, I will scrape your name from the list myself. Are we clear?”

He felt a bit of triumph upon seeing the usually peaceful face of the monk display sadness. “I understand.” Zenyatta simply whispered.

Satisfied, Hanzo left without as much as a glare to the saddened monk.

–

Hanzo returned home fuming, rehashing this horrible day over and over. As he did so, guilt slowly emerged among the anger like a volcano in the middle of the roaring sea.

He could still not believe that the sentence that had started the fight at the hospital actually came from his mouth, nor that he had almost come to hands with his brother’s doctor and a peaceful monk. Neither of them actually wished him any harm, he was aware of that.  
And yet he had been the one to say these things and nearly punch either one of his interlocutors.  
That was something a criminal who valued pride and duty above all, like his father and the rest of the clan, would do. Not a man acting out of concern for his little brother.  
Since when did his temper have such a short fuse?

He should not have snapped at Angela. He had done so once, a few months after the accident, out of desperation and distress as Genji had yet to wake up from his coma. He had accused her of not doing her best, and their exchange had turned so acidic that he had been close to get sued for defamation. He would have gone to court, had his editors not intervened and forced him to apologize.  
Now that he could hardly buy food, a lawsuit was simply not something he could go through.  
He regretted blowing up at her, when the one he truly despised the most was himself. Angela would have never let the monk do anything harmful. He may profoundly dislike her, he did not doubt her competence and professionalism.  
He trusted her more than he trusted himself to take care of Genji.

He should also not have snapped at Zenyatta. He did not even care about Tekhartha’s beliefs. What bothered him was the monk doing things to his brother behind his back. At least he seemed to have sought authorization from the doctor in charge, but that hardly made it less angering.

–

Upon opening his mailbox, Hanzo had the displeasure of finding an envelope from his landlady.  
It usually meant three things: announcements for interventions, schedules for neighbor meetings that he never attended, or monthly rent.

It ended up being the latest, as he discovered so upon opening the envelop.  
Unfolding the paper was always a tense moment. If he had done things right, he should not have a raise.  
And he had indeed; the amount was reasonable, thanks to his efforts. He had not used too much hot water and kept the electrical consumption down to the strict minimum.

However, when he went up to the flat and checked his bank account online, a block of ice sunk down in his stomach.  
He was short of fifty dollars.  
How could this be? That could not be right.  
He immediately checked the latest transactions and found the cause; the purchase of Benzos, and Ana's house call for the flu. None of it had been payed back yet by his assurance, and he had to pay the rent in time if he did not want to get expelled.

Hanzo withdrew his hands from the keyboard before the moisture of his palms could soil the keys and forced himself to breathe slowly. Barking at the landlady in full anger and panic would certainly not help his case.

He wished he had foreseen this, then he would have asked Jack and Gabriel to provide him his salary a little earlier than usual. But he had been so distracted by his dreams, he had not thought about this at all.  
Should he call? He hesitated; calling might not provide him what he needed, and his editors would assuredly ask if everything was alright, if he was in trouble, if they could lend him a larger amount of money…  
He would rather not go through this right now, he did not have a single shred of patience left.

'First of all, deal with landlady. Worry about making it through the week later.'  
He tried reasoning in cold blood and pinpointing all the pros he could think of. This was the first time in years. He had never caused any problem (or at least no one had ever caught him practicing archery on the rooftop). He would absolutely pay the rest of the rent the moment he would have the money.  
If he properly exposed these points one by one without losing his calm, he could make his case.

He went down to her loge, chest tight. Even the sight of the landlady's dog happily waving its tail and cutely yapping did not help him relax.  
He still indulged the pet and gave it a pat on the head while waiting for the woman to show.  
“Hello.” He politely saluted when the landlady finally stepped out of her office. “I was coming by to let you know, I unfortunately cannot pay this month's rent in its entirety.” He said all in one breath.  
\- In its entirety? That means you'll still partially pay?  
\- Yes of course, I will just be short of-  
\- You can pay me as soon as you can, or I'll just add the unpaid amount to next month's rent. Don't worry about it.  
\- … You will?” Hanzo asked before he could hold back. He had not expected this to go so smoothly.

The woman shrugged, twirling a pen absently. “Well yeah. I barely see you, no one complains about you, you always payed on time till today, and you’re kinda cute.” She added with a small wink. “But don't make it a habit, alright?  
\- Certainly not. Thank you for your understanding.”  
He hastily wrote a check and left before she could change her mind.

Once Hanzo was back in the flat, he leaned against his door and sighed heavily.

He would just have enough to last until his next payment, supposing nothing costly came up. Next month however, he would have to prioritize the rent on top of the hospital fees and his transport card. That meant restraining his already thin expenses down to absolute minimum, possibly not use heating at all. Even though it was cold outside and the isolation was garbage.  
That also meant zero hot showers; while he had cold water for free, anything involving the boiler fueled his rent.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he realized that his hands were shaking and his vision had gone awfully blurry. Almost immediately he rubbed his aching eyes; his fingers returned wet.  
'Pull yourself together, this is not the time to collapse.' He told himself over and over until he was able to hold his eyes open without getting immediately blinded with tears.  
“I don't need help.” He spoke out loud. “I can handle this.”  
The conviction he had shown out of anger was now cruelly lacking.

In the end, Hanzo spent most of the evening sitting in his chair and wrapped in a blanket to stay warm, thinking about his uselessness and the guilt digging deeper. He only moved when the pull of his stomach became too strong to ignore. He settled for a small portion of Hana's bulgogi to sooth the ache while indulging his utter lack of appetite.  
The food was so good, he felt all the more remorseful for not being able to properly enjoy it. As welcomed as these leftovers were, Hanzo felt like they were being wasted on him.

Certain that his mood would only get worse throughout the night, he took a Benzo and went to bed early. His last thought before drowsiness overwhelmed his brain was that, like Angela, Zenyatta was right on every point.  
Nothing of what he did helped Genji, beside bringing money. He was good for nothing other than being bitter and weighting on others' lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _( ᐛ 」∠)＿ Please don't yell at me too hard in the comments thankyoubbye


	21. Visitor in the morning, Anguish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cowboy in the evening, Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello y'all (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)  
> I hope you had great vacations! I'm going back to work in a few days and I am double Not Ready™ (*꒦ິ⌓꒦ີ)
> 
> I was amazed to see how well last chapter was received, even though it apparently caused a waterfall of tears… I'm so sorry!  
> Thank y'all for all the kudos and comments, they have earned y'all a cowboy hug (●´∀｀●)
> 
> [Here's the bunch of doodles I made for the update](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/164148444091/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-hello)! WARNING: the last drawing is a spoiler!  
> Also I RECEIVED FANART FOR THE FIC! The links are right in the end notes ʕ•̤́ᴥ•̤̀❀ʔ
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this update!

A strange feeling of dread slowly stirred Hanzo awake from his slumber.  
His eyes opened to almost complete darkness, as it was still night time in the dream world. The only source of light came from the remains of their camp fire, the dying embers casting a faint glow of a small radius.  
Strange. Hanzo usually woke up early in these dreams, but this was the first time he did so before dawn.

More concerning was the alarming sensation that roused him from stupor; he felt uneasy and oppressed, as if there was a weight on his chest. His skin was clammy, as though he had broken out in a cold sweat.  
He first attributed all of it to the crushing guilt and sadness that had plagued him till the benzodiazepine kicked in. That fitted the theory of a cause to effect relationship between his dreams and reality.

That was until the sensation became more physical than mental, followed by the disconcerting feeling that someone or something was observing him.  
Without moving a muscle, he first took a look at his chest. Finding nothing to explain the sensation, he let his eyes roam around the barn, looking for intruders or disturbances.  
McCree was lying on the other side of the fire, his face hidden beneath his hat. He was completely still, the only noticeable sign of life being the rise and fall of his chest. There was no one else in the room and nothing seemed out of place.

A small gust of wind accompanied with an odd smell brushed his cheek, making him look on the side. There had been no draft before, why was there one now?

He not only found out that the draft was not one, but also that the cause of his troubles was actually sitting on his side and straight up staring at him in the face. All he could see was a black mass barely distinguishable from the darkness of the barn, dotted with a multitude of crimson and piercing eyes searching his soul.

Hanzo was not a man easy to scare. He had killed and nearly been killed more times than he could count, been in dire situations where the smallest mistake could have led to lethal outcomes, and dealt with some of the worst of individuals one could find among criminal organizations.  
This situation however was absolutely unprecedented; into the woods, with some kind of red-eyed mass looming over him, his bow just out of his reach and Jesse on the other side of the room, sound asleep. These present circumstances were more than alarming, they were _horrifying_.

Thus his reflex kicked in; he let out a primal scream, a wakeup call to alert the sleeping cowboy and certainly not an outlet for the terror swarming his senses. The mass drew back from his face, eyes widening in reaction to the sound. Jesse woke up mid-snore with a start, abruptly sitting up sans hat and gun already propped up in his hand. “Whatta hell's goin' on?” He slurred, completely startled.  
Hanzo immediately seized his chance and shoved himself away from the spot, grabbing Stormbow in the process. He then blindly swung it at the thing that had crept onto him, hoping to knock it out or at least make it back off while he reached for an arrow.

There was no impact however, the bow phasing through the mass as if it were a ghost.  
Before he could try something different, wings emerged from the undefined matter and the hideous thing flew away from him, leaving behind a thick trail of smoke. It was as if the being was entirely made of black fumes, which only reinforced his belief that he was dealing with a yōkai.

The monstrosity landed onto a ceiling beam and abruptly shrieked at Hanzo. While it sounded like a dissonant, high-pitched mix of a crow's cry and a cat's hiss that failed to impress as strongly as the creature's looks, the archer did not doubt that the cry would pierce all the eardrums in the vicinity if it got any louder.  
In the dim light of the fire, he could see the thing take a shape; its mass shrunk in size, condensing into what highly resembled an owl. Its body was jet black, with a bone-white face made purely of bone. The beak had no visible bottom jaw, and many shiny eyes were hazardously sprawled across its head in addition to the ones in the orbits.

That was definitely not a simple ghost, not that Hanzo had ever seen one before or cared to find out the name of the being. The most urgent matter was to take it down before it could do anything nefarious.  
He immediately grabbed an arrow from his quiver, aiming to strike the hellish creature in its skull and send it back to whatever inferno it crawled out of. He had no idea whether it would meet its mark or fly through and leave the thing unharmed, but he was not about to let this thing attack them without fighting back.

There was a shout and a hand caught his wrist. Another hurriedly wrapped around the notched arrow, trying to tear it from his grip.  
McCree had stopped him from taking the shot. The cowboy looked groggy from his abrupt awakening, particularly unstressed in spite of the abomination screeching from the ceiling. Once he had the arrow in his possession, he removed his metallic fingers from the archer's wrist.

“What are you doing?” Hanzo whispered, his confusion quickly giving way to exasperation and urgency. “Have you lost your mind? Do you not see this creature threatening us?  
\- I see him alright. Heck I hear him more than I can see him.” Jesse stifled a yawn before he lazily handed the arrow back to its owner. “But as fuckin' loud as he is, shootin' at him ain't necessary sweetheart, believe me.”  
That really was not the smartest response; McCree's nonchalance already upset the archer enough, the use of the pet name only peeved him furthermore. “This is no laughing matter! That _thing_ was this close to my face!” He empathized the proximity by nearing the arrow tip dangerously close to McCree's nose. “If I had not scared it away, it would have pecked my eyes out!”

The cowboy gently pushed the arrow aside. “Ya're gonna poke mine out if ya keep shovin' things up my face like that.” He reproved, before he looked up at the owl-like creature with a deep scold. It was still wailing and the noise only seemed to get more and more strident by the minute. “Quit the bitchin' y'old fart, we can barely hear ourselves think down 'ere!” Jesse shouted, his booming voice briefly muffling the caterwauling.

To Hanzo's surprise, that actually made the thing stop shrieking. It looked astonished, its many eyes wide open and solely focusing on the cowboy.  
“What were ya doin' buggin' my friend at this ungodly hour?” McCree said in a tone one would use to ground a child, his hands placed on his hips only reinforcing that impression. “Ya don't stare at people in the face an' wait for them to wake up so ya can peekaboo the shit outta them, ya creep!”   
The smoky yōkai seemed to react to his lecturing. It puffed out its chest and screeched again, an octave lower from the shrill sound it made earlier. Even though it was nothing but a dissonant birdcall, McCree seemed to understand whatever the cry was about for he shook his head and replied. “Ya hardly bother wakin' me up when I'm tossin' about, I ain't buyin' that li'l white lie.”

Hanzo had absolutely no idea what to make of this. He did not know where to start; the thing itself, McCree being completely fine with its presence, his talking to it as if it could understand him, or the fact that he understood whatever noises it was throwing back at him.  
“Both of you stop it!” He finally snapped, making the owl and the cowboy look at him with a frown. “This whole situation is absolutely ludicrous! What is that thing, why are you okay with it, why are you even talking to it and how, just _how_ can you possibly understand it when all it does is _shrieking_?” He choked out, practically gasping for air as he had barely paused a second for breath.

Jesse had almost taken a step back at the barrage of questions, his bushy eyebrows raising so high they nearly disappeared behind the wild hair covering his forehead. “I uh, I jus' do okay? Cool down, we're all pals here.” He raised his hands slowly, casting a concerned stare at Hanzo.  
The archer was aware that he was once more 'flipping his lid' at the cowboy, but the events of the day and this fresh encounter had shaken him more than he would admit.  
“I will only 'cool down' if you answer me right now.” Hanzo quipped, making a point of staring right in McCree's eyes.  
The cowboy bravely maintained eye contact. “That ain't a thing… Well kinda technically. He's somethin' alright, but I don't really know what the heck he's supposed to be. I don't suppose ya'd take 'an owl from outer space' as an appropriate answer.  
\- No, I would not.” Hanzo articulated, slowly crossing his arms over his chest. “If you do not know what this is, then how are you so comfortable around it?  
\- This guy's basically the friend I told ya 'bout before we set a foot in the woods, remember? He’s a forest ranger an’ he also doubles as a guardian angel.”

Hanzo looked up at the creature, then back at McCree. “This demonic being, a guardian angel? Is this another cowman idiom of yours, or are you being sarcastic?  
\- I ain't pullin' yer leg or anythin'. He's a genuinely good guy.” The cowboy huffed, shifting from one foot to the other. “He sure doesn't look like one, heck he calls himself Reaper. But he follows me an' protects my hide whenever I come here.  
\- Reaper?” Hanzo repeated, voice faint in disbelief. Of all designs he could think of for a guardian angel, a mutant bird of prey made of smoke was not on the list. “This is a kindred spirit? But it looks… The way it looks…”  
It made him think of a bad omen, an incarnation of Death. In fact, this thing's being named Reaper was more than a little on the nose.

“Yeah pretty fucked up, I know. 'S like ugly got murdered, came back from the dead an' possessed the rottin' carcass of a bird.” Jesse sighed, while Reaper let out an undignified shriek. Yet when the cowboy offered his prosthetic arm, the smoky owl flew to him and comfortably settled on his forearm, its thick talons clinking against the metal.  
“He said his goal's to strike fear in the hearts o' men. I think he's jus' a pretty edgy guy. Anyway the truth is that he's been good to me for years.” Jesse smiled, carefully brushing the bird's neck. “I've known him since I was a scrawny kid. When I found myself all alone after leavin' Deadlock, he was there to pick up the pieces. Ya can trust him an' count on ‘im to have yer back in these woods.”

Reaper crooned, leaning in Jesse's touch. Then it started heartily preening the chestnut locks poking from beneath his hat, as if they were feathers.  
The archer would have found this remotely heart-warming if a red eye had not appeared on the back of the creature's head to stare at him. The feathery yōkai did not trust him apparently.  
“Well, protector or not, I do not wish to wake up with a beak tearing my face up.” He muttered, passing a hand on his jaw. To his annoyance, it was not as neat as he usually kept it; he had been slacking off with his appearance lately, for he had had no energy to shave in the morning and purposely avoided staring in his bathroom mirror more than a second in the evening.

McCree noticed his discomfort. “Please give him time. I've always traveled alone or with Sis till now, so it's kinda weird for him to see me bringin' someone along. He's just lookin' out for li'l me.”  
His smile was so warm and engaging, Hanzo could not find it in him to be angry anymore.  
Jesse turned his attention back on the owl, nudging its forehead with the tip of his forefinger. “Ya however, ya need to chill down a bit. This handsome fellah's my trusty pardner. We've been savin' each other's lives lately, so ya'd better start bein' nice 'cause I ain't gonna tolerate this rude shit no more.” He told the bird, who simply scuffled his wings. “Besides, I think ya should make an apology.”

The owl tilted its head toward the cowboy with wide eyes, then toward Hanzo. Then back at the cowboy with a thoughtful coo.  
“I ain't the one who needs an apology pal, he is.” Jesse huffed, pointing at Hanzo. “Shimada, would ya mind raisin' yer arm? The one with the glove, this guy's got pretty sharp claws.”  
A bit at loss, Hanzo obliged. He had barely extended his arm that Reaper suddenly left the prosthetic arm and leaped onto his.

The archer had to keep his nerve in order not to jerk away, especially when strong toes closed around his yugake. Reaper looked all the more impressive from up close.  
His numerous eyes had disappeared. Only a couple remained to stare in Hanzo's, much to his relief. He would not have been able to physically maintain eye-contact facing six or eight of them.  
The bird insistently leered at him, then it finally hooted decrepitly. Next to them, Jesse puffed. “Try again with a li'l more heart to it yeah? That was pretty damn lame.”  
Reaper's head turned back to throw him a glare, then he faced Hanzo again. The archer chose not to say a word, finding this situation too surreal to give a proper input.  
The owl hooted again, sounding less reserved this time. “See? Wasn't that hard at all.” McCree chuckled, reaching out to pet Reaper's head.

“What did it-he say exactly?” Hanzo frowned, still keeping his eyes on the bird. Right now Reaper was busy nibbling Jesse's fingers, but he might try to bite his nose off if he dared look away.  
“He apologized for spookin' ya an' promised not to do it again.” Jesse translated. He then fully extended his arm and Reaper immediately returned onto it, after giving the archer's wrist a subtle squeeze.  
“I uh, I also want to apologize for the spook.” The cowboy added sheepishly. “I got so used to him that I didn't think 'bout how ya'd react if he popped outta nowhere.  
\- You did tell me you have a friend in this area. I just did not expect,” Hanzo vaguely gestured at the smoky owl, “ _this_ , of all things.  
\- I didn't exactly warn ya 'bout his looks, did I? I actually thought 'bout doin' it yesterday, but then there was the whole debacle with the junkers an' it completely slipped my mind. By the time I remembered, a freakin' snake attacked ya an' I forgot again. I was hopin' I'd have the time to do it this mornin', but Reaper clearly beat me to it so…” Jesse frowned, picking up his hat and holding it over his chest in a remorseful gesture. The owl's preening had done nothing to arrange the bird nest-like hair. “I hope ya can forgive me.”

Eyes appeared on the side of Reaper's head, fiercely staring at Hanzo as if daring him not to accept the heartfelt apology. But he did not need the piercing glare of a bird-shaped miasma to make up his mind. It would be terribly rude to castigate the cowboy when his focus had been set on saving his skin from yesterday's string of bad luck.  
“You are forgiven.” The archer scoffed, adjusting the collar of his Gi. Now that the adrenaline of this meeting had worn down, he could feel the ambient coldness creep on him. “Although Reaper could have chosen not to appear on my chest if he can do so out of his own will. You should not have to apologize for a fright you did not cause.  
\- I actually dunno if he appears at will. I once spent a week waitin' for him to pop up. But I still think I should've warned ya.  
\- By saying you have an abomination watching over you that might appear while I sleep to stare at my face and threaten me not to hurt his godchild?” He took the Stetson from Jesse's hands and placed it back on the cowboy's head. “I do not think anything would have prepared me for this.”

McCree smirked and adjusted the hat over his hair. “I guess ya have a point.” He beamed out of relief, the crease lines wrinkling his forehead relaxing.  
Reaper ignored the two of them, making a show of spreading his wings and cleaning the sharp talons with his single beak.

–

Since they could not fall back asleep after this rollicking start, they put the fire out and left the barn.  
Dawn was near, morning dew covering the ground with a thick fog. Hanzo could not have been more thankful that his shoes went above his ankles, for the already damp floor was all the more watery.  
Now that Reaper was off his chest, he felt physically fine; the head wound and the cuts on his back were almost healed, clean crusts marring his skin. It seemed McCree's intervention had remarkably payed off in his favor.  
While this was a serious improvement compared to his previous state, he still had the weight of the day lingering in his shoulders. It seemed he could not escape absolutely everything in these dreams.

He absently looked at McCree; Reaper had settled on the cowboy's shoulder and kept on 'discussing' with him as they walked. The bird's only expressing himself in screeches made the strangest language barrier Hanzo had ever encountered, even though Jesse's replies were more than enough to make educated guesses on the discussed topics.  
The archer did wonder if the cowboy was actually pulling his leg by pretending that the owl spoke. Knowing Jesse, it was not that much of a stretch.  
However they had been 'talking' for thirty minutes now. There was only so much time for a farce to go on.

From his point of view, Reaper was another contradictory oddity his brain had somehow conjured and he had yet to figure out the hidden sense behind his existence.  
Whatever Reaper was supposed to be, he was a sentient being and visibly reacted accordingly to whatever Jesse was saying. The cowboy might as well be discussing with an actual person. A person with multiple eyes, smoky feathers and a rather severe speech impediment, but a person nonetheless.

It still made Hanzo feel awkward and left out until McCree suddenly grinned at him, startling him out of his thoughts “Oh Shimada, guess what? Ya remember that rickety panel we found right at the entrance of the Forest? Reaper's the one behind it. He apparently made it all on his own with a broken crate! Can ya believe that?  
\- That explains the chicken scratches, it must have been difficult to write with talons.” Hanzo said, raising an eyebrow at the owl. “I am honored to meet the creative soul who came up with 'Forest of being eaten alive by trees'. I must say this nonsense is a far better choice for a name than McCree's conception of _tranquility_.”

Reaper made a weird sound that the archer identified as a laugh judging from the way his feathery chest rapidly swelled and deflated. As for Jesse, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “Oh come on, not ya too. Why do y'all have to gang up on the cowboy o' the group? I'm the only one who took the trouble o' namin' these places while the city folks could not be bothered to!”  
Hanzo could not hide his amusement. It seemed the demonic owl and him had grounds in common.

When McCree noticed his mirth, the annoyance immediately vanished from his face. “Well good thing it makes ya smile, 'cause that's one pretty sight for which I wouldn't mind gettin' mocked at all day long.” He winked, his voice on the brick of sultry.  
That efficiently made the archer stop, his cheeks instantly covering with a flush. He was a far way away from getting accustomed to Jesse's flirting.  
Reaper hooted uncomfortably, turning his back to the smirking cowboy.

–

They walked for a long time through the gloomy woods in silence. The owl had stopped shrieking a moment ago to nod off on McCree's shoulder, while the cowboy had been humming pleasant tunes to embellish the eerie peace.

For the first time in a while, Hanzo wanted to strike a conversation. He usually did not mind the quiet periods where all they did was riding or walking, but this one made him restless. Perhaps this morning's commotion had left him overly sensitive to a complete lack of noise.  
He eventually found the courage to clear his throat, although feeling a little remorseful for interrupting the man's entertaining singing. “McCree, how do you feel? I never got to ask you this morning.”  
The cowboy gazed at him, a little abashed. “How do I feel as in…?  
\- Physically. You did take a serious beating yesterday and, while you do seem fine… I am just concerned, that is all.” The archer awkwardly justified, almost cringing at how unnatural he sounded. How could small talk be so difficult?

Jesse did not seem too concerned by his gaucheness, blessing him with another radiant smile. “That's sweet of ya! Don't worry yer pretty head, I'm all dandy. What about ya though? How's the back? Still a bit stiff? An' the head?  
\- Oh, I am actually fine now, even after our brutal awakening. Thanks to your doings, I believe a full recovery is to be expected soon.  
\- Good to know pardner. Otherwise, how are ya?”

Hanzo frowned. “McCree, you just asked me that question. I am fine.  
\- Ain't what I meant. Ya've been lookin' real preoccupied, even after I've made it clear that Reaper was a friend. What's buggin' ya? Did somethin' happen last night?”  
The archer almost stopped, very briefly stumbling. Had he let anything transpire? It made sense the cowboy in his head could easily read through him, but he had to ask: “What makes you say that?

The cowboy took another glance at him, then he focused back on his feet. “After I've healed ya yesterday, ya were a li'l spirited, smilin' an' all. But since this mornin', yer eyes have been full o' clouds an' ya haven't spoken much. Last night, when ya wanted to deal with yer wounds all by yerself, that kinda got me thinkin'. Seems to me like ya're a man who'd rather solve his problems on his own than relyin' on anyone whatsoever, an' the fact ya're a dragon among men probably doesn't help. So I can't help but worry a bit now that I figured that out.” He paused to rub his neck nervously, before hurriedly adding: “'Course I might be overthinkin' this whole thing an' be completely talkin' outta my ass. Ya tell me if I'm mistakin', I mean no offense.”

Hanzo briefly looked at Jesse, then he also returned his gaze to the foggy ground. He opened his mouth to vividly deny the cowboy's sayings, but closed it when he found himself unable to make a sound.  
Even though he had no wish to address his real problems in his escapist fantasy, the archer was aware that McCree was the sole person he could be entirely honest without any repercussions. And he could not exactly hide these problems from the observant man accompanying him throughout his journey.  
Besides, confiding in Jesse may bring him some answers or at least some semblance of relief.  
How he should refer to his real life was a bit of a difficulty, considering that the allusions made in the past had weirded the cowboy out. He would have to improvise or remain as evasive as possible while telling the truth.

“I am having a difficult time.” He finally muttered. “Doubts and guilt plague me daily, but they hassled me all throughout the night with renewed vigor.” He sighed.  
McCree tilted his head thoughtfully, waiting for him to add something. Hanzo was not about to at first, but then he felt the need to press on as if he had opened his own floodgate.  
“What weighs me down has become much more difficult to bear over time. Some days are harder than usual, days when I feel like I am trapped in clockwork and being slowly crushed… Yesterday was one of them. There are things to keep me going, but they are sadly too sparse in the face of what afflicts me. I have been wondering often lately, how I would have managed to go on had I been any weaker.”

McCree remained silent for a few seconds before he replied, which felt like an eternity for the archer. “That's really how ya feel? I mean, 'course ya feel that way since ya say so. 'S just that ya never gave me that feelin' ever. Sure they were times ya looked lost an' stressed, but the rest of the time ya gave me a mighty an' strong impression.  
\- That is because it is what I want you to see.” Hanzo retorted, dismissing the compliment with a wave of his hand. “But it is merely my pride that gives me stature. If there is something right about my poster, it is that my self-worth is very much the same amount distributed for my capture.  
\- Suga-Shimada… Would ya believe me if I said I get yer feelin'?  
\- I do not see any reason why not to believe you. You do not strike me as someone who would lie to make other people feel better.” Hanzo smiled faintly. “I do lie however. A lot. Most of all when I am anything but alright. I have spent days telling people close to me that I am perfectly fine, when I am in fact barely hanging by a thread.” He said without holding back. He no longer had qualms telling Jesse the truth. “Of course I am aware this behavior is reckless, even dangerous in hard times. But I do not wish to become idle or appear impotent. These are things I should overcome by myself, for I rightly deserve my fate as an irresponsible-”

He bumped into Jesse, the cowboy having stopped right in front of him. Before he could apologize, McCree surrounded his shoulders with his strong arms and pressed him furthermore against his chest. The stench of nicotine usually clinging around the man had disappeared, washed away by the rain; his serape now smelled of hay and sand, a strangely welcoming scent.  
“What are you doing?” Hanzo asked after an awkward pause.  
“Huggin' ya. 'Cause firstly, ya need it an' secondly, ya're right. It's a stupid behavior that could get ya killed.” Jesse mumbled against his hair. “Ya're far from bein' stupid though. I get it, I used to do that same shit till I got in a really bad place. I'd be rottin' or dyin' if I'd never got a bit o' help. So… I jus' want ya to know that I understand, an' that ya can lean on me whenever ya need it. Ain't nobody who's gonna judge ya, an' whoever wants to cast a stone at ya will get my fist in their fuckin' face.”

Hanzo did not know what to say; it was the first time someone ever told him such a thing. Then again, it was the first time he openly admitted to someone other than a medical professional that he was unwell.

They stayed like this until the archer could no longer handle the proximity and clumsily retreated. He did feel comfortable in the other man's embrace, but that was another thing he would never admit out loud and should not enjoy.  
The cowboy did nothing to hold him back, patting his shoulder and smiling warmly at him. Hanzo smiled back, touched by the man's kind empathy. “I will keep that in mind. Thank you.” He timidly muttered.

Reaper, who had woken up yet stayed quiet during the embrace, nudged the shell of Jesse's ear with his beak and screeched.  
“What? No it ain’t like that, get yer mind outta the gutter!” McCree told the owl, his cheeks abruptly darkening. For someone who flirted so openly and shamelessly, the cowboy seemed to have a thin skin facing teasing. Surely Hanzo could use that to his advantage. “Not like what?” He butted in very nonchalantly.  
Jesse immediately turned back sputtering. Reaper threw him a glare, his crimson eyes reduced to small slits. “Uhm nothin'! Some stupid nonsense he's sayin', ain't interestin' at all.” The cowboy laughed weakly. “Old crone's jus' a little a li'l senile, that's all-Ow!” He was cut by a pair of talons pinching his lobe.

Hanzo had to free a whimpering McCree from Reaper's claws before the offended bird could give him an unwanted piercing.  
“That will teach you bad-mouthing a bird of prey when it is standing right on your shoulder.” The archer huffed as he checked Jesse's ear for any lesion. A few scars dotted the auricle, from the reddened lobe to the helix. All of these looked like old piercings, leaving him to ponder on what other fashion strangeness McCree had gone through.  
He could not remember seeing any earrings on the cowboy's mugshot, but perhaps he had been too caught up in the moment to pay attention. Or they had been left out.

“Why is everybody gangin' up on me all o' the sudden?” Jesse moaned, surprisingly comfortable with Hanzo manipulating his ear.  
The archer scoffed. “I cannot imagine why, you are such a charming individual.” He jested, before releasing the cowboy. “Your ear is fine, but be more wary. Reaper may have protected you and known you for years, he seems to be quite the character.”  
A revengeful wing was spread in his direction, millimeters away from decking him in the head. “Thank you for proving my point.” He addressed the owl, who hooted back at him.  
“Ya’re best pals already, how cute.” Jesse huffed, adjusting his hat and shrugging to make Reaper struggle for balance. Petty of him, but these talons did look remarkably sharp.

As they resumed walking, Hanzo took a hard look at Jesse and wondered.  
Had he really created this perplexing character, this brut gem that showed such beautiful reflections within its core?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely fanarts made by lovely people:
> 
> [Here](https://sadakotetsuwan.tumblr.com/post/163781346365/chromatocloo-has-drawn-so-much-wonderful-art-for) is McCree drawn by SadakoTetsuwan, the author of [The Cooking Cowboy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468143/chapters/21419690)!
> 
> [Here](http://pachimellie.tumblr.com/post/163882328177/chromatocloos-fanfic-lucid-dream-is-so-well) are Hanzo and Jesse on the top of the broken Plate!


	22. Jubokko pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Forest once again proves not to be worthy of its name.  
>  ***WARNING* : mentions of icky bugs and (accidental) mass murder of said bugs.** I dunno if that is something I should really warn y'all about, but I'd rather not take any chances (*´◡`*)
> 
> Oh and fyi, I want to point out that I actually have zero clue about what to do in the situation that will occur in this chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? Hope y'all had good vacations if you're coming back from them now (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)
> 
> As usual, a billion thanks for every single kudo and comment! You guys mean a lot to me and keep my inspiration going! Thank you for sticking along, and welcome if you recently discovered my stuff!
> 
>  
> 
> [Here is the art I made for the chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/164683733966/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this new addition ʕ≧ᴥ≦❀ʔ

They had been walking for hours when a disruption erupted and broke the stillness of the woods. It occurred around noon, though it was difficult to tell the time with the lack of light.

The quake had been minor at first, so faint Hanzo had been unsure whether he was imagining it or not. When he had asked Jesse if he had felt something, the cowboy had shaken his head dubiously.  
Then a few seconds later, a stronger quake shook the ground. The trees swayed, dead leaves and sticks raining down upon the small group.

This time, Hanzo was definitely not imagining things.

He backed against the sturdiest-looking tree nearby for cover, holding onto the trunk to stay on his feet while the quake went on. McCree however did not know what to do, struggling to maintain his balance on the unsteady ground. Reaper had woken up from his slumber and flapped his wings erratically on his shoulder, the owl either panicking or trying to get the cowboy to move to a safer spot.

When heavy branches started falling from the trees, Hanzo grabbed McCree by the serape and pulled him by his side with a sharp tug.  
It actually made the cowboy fall with a yelp, Reaper releasing his shoulder and flapping to lower himself slowly. The archer caught Jesse before he ended up sprawled on the ground, then quickly wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him close and grounded. The owl landed back on Jesse's shoulder, tucking his head against his face and crooning softly.  
That seemed to work, for McCree curled up against him and stayed still. His panic however was hardly subdued; his heart was beating so hard and fast, Hanzo could feel it leap under his palm through the thick chest armor.

They all stayed put during the tremors, Hanzo on the lookout for more falling branches or, worse still, collapsing trees. When the quake finally quietened down, he exchanged a glance with McCree.  
“The fuck was that?” The cowboy whispered. Judging by his reaction, Hanzo guessed he was unused to shaking grounds.  
“An earthquake. And not a small one.” The archer replied, maintaining his hold on Jesse in case there would be a replica. The man was unsurprisingly comfortable with their current proximity, but most likely too shaken to make a flirty comment. “Something like a five or six the Richter scale. I cannot be sure, I have not been subjected to earthquakes ever since I left my home.  
\- I ain't really familiar with that scale one bit, but I'm guessin' that's a pretty strong grade.” McCree exhaled, before he addressed Reaper. “Y'alright buddy? Nothin' broken? … Whatcha ya lookin' at?”

Hanzo also turned his attention toward the owl; the bird had turned his head on a 180° angle, all of his ruby eyes wide open and alert. He seemed to be looking through the trees in a specific direction.  
The cowboy mutely turned to face in the same direction as Reaper, who's head pivoted along to keep on staring whatever had his attention. A palpable tension suddenly rose, making Hanzo release Jesse so he could reach for his bow.

McCree and Reaper exchanged a stare, then the owl screeched lowly and suddenly flew off. His entire body turned into a dark mist that melted into the shadows, the same smoky form the archer had woken up to.  
Once he had disappeared, Hanzo patted Jesse's arm. “What is going on?” He whispered with unveiled concern.  
The cowboy looked simply thrown off, but he shook himself out of it. “Somethin' or someone's comin'. I dunno what, that's all he told me.” He said as he cautiously stood away from the tree, dead leaves slowly detaching from his chaps. His legs wobbled, but he managed to stay on his feet. “Might jus' be the junkers comin' back for revenge, but I didn't expect them to notice my con so fast. I'd be surprised if it were the Sheriff an' his goons, since the big ravine an' the broken Plate take a while to go 'round. So either the junkers, or someone else. I can only guess. What I do know for sure's that we gotta keep movin' for now.  
\- I could not agree more with you, but what about Reaper?” The archer asked, promptly following after him.  
“He left to scout the forest. If whoever or whatever's out there is hostile, then he'll attack. If not, then slow it down, keep it off our tracks or spook them out of the woods. But when he attacks though? That's somethin' ya'd need to see in order to believe. I saw it once, it's real impressive; he jus' casts an entire mist by flyin' around, then he lashes out an' fights beak an' talons…”  
Hanzo simply nodded, before cutting McCree by pressing a finger over his mouth. He did get very chatty when he was afraid and time was of the essence. “There is no point in discussing furthermore, I believe you. Let us go now.”

The two men ran for several minutes in a most strained silence. The fickle light that made it through the foliage had deemed, so much so that it was barely enough to safely venture through the trees.  
Roots and branches seemed to pop out of nowhere, as if the trees were trying to impede their progression.

When a faraway shriek echoed from the depths of the woods, the two abruptly stopped.  
“What was that?” Hanzo gasped. There was no doubt that it had to be Reaper, considering he was the only bird in the entire forest. But the archer had never heard the owl make such a noise; it was short, pained, like a dying cry.  
Jesse too looked doubtful at first. Then alarm made his eyes widen. “Shit.” He panted, looking back. “I think Reaper has fallen, I can't feel his presence no more.  
\- You mean he is-” Hanzo could not finish his sentence, the blood withdrawing from his face. What or who could have taken down the shapeshifting creature from hell? And how?

But Jesse shook his head. “Not dead, he can't actually die. Seen him fall a few times an' he always comes back. But it takes some time, from a few hours to a few days. It's most likely that we ain't gonna see him again anytime soon.  
\- We are on our own then.” The archer concluded, a cold uneasiness clenching his gut. Between the ignorance on the threat after them and the loss of an ally, the situation had yet to improve.

The cowboy was obviously feeling the same, yet he adjusted his hat and faced Hanzo. An indomitable will animated his bright eyes, the hazel of his irises verging on copper. “Let's keep goin'.” He growled under his breath, cracking his knuckles. “If they catch up on us, we'll show them what we're capable of.”  
The archer could not think of anything to add. He nodded, determination replacing the chilling apprehension.

However they had only taken a few more steps that Hanzo paused again.  
Something had made a sickening crunching sound beneath the sole of their shoes. He had first thought it to be a bunch of sticks, until he had unfortunately taken a look down to dodge a root. “McCree?” He called, swallowing to keep a dizzying queasiness at bay.  
The unfazed cowboy turned back, too wound up to notice the noise his boots were making. “Yeah? What is it?  
\- Look down.” The archer hissed, utterly repelled.

Jesse obliged, smothering a curse the moment he saw what had made him stop.

Reptiles and bugs of all kinds slithered across the misty mud, all heading in the same direction as they did. With their shifting leaves and twigs in their path, the ground looked alive. There was hardly any spot left to set a foot without crushing a life form.  
“What the- Fuck!” The cowboy jerked, trying to dodge the swarming crawlers only to accidentally step on more. “Oh Christ that's- that's too much. I think I'm gonna hurl.  
\- _Don’t_ , for both our sakes. This is revolting enough.” Hanzo spat, just barely keeping from shivering as a large centipede contoured his feet. “I have had enough of this accursed place! First the earthquake, then Reaper and now this? Something is afoot McCree, something more than just a couple of idiots out of their depth.  
\- Ya're talkin' about the junkers or us?” Jesse quipped, fanning himself with his hat to counter his sudden sickness.

Before Hanzo could retort, a gust of wind hit the two men in the face. It swore with the ambient air of the woods, for it was not damp and full of rot. It was hot and dry, strikingly scented with burnt wood and something too foul and heady to be identified.  
“All of this is abnormal.” The archer whispered once he got over the unfamiliar stench. “I am going to take a quick look from higher grounds. Perhaps I will be able to get a glimpse of what is going on.  
\- A'right pardner. I’m jus' gonna wait for ya down here.” McCree gulped, hopping on a tree stump to keep from crushing more things under his boots. “Try not to be too long. An' look for the mountains while ya're up there. That's where we're supposed to be headin'!”

Hanzo went to the tallest tree in the vicinity and hoisted himself up on a low branch. He climbed as fast as he could, helped by the vines, nodes and branches the trunk sported.  
The branches grew thinner as he neared the treetop, but the trunk remained thick enough to support his weight. As he hoisted himself between two branches, he suddenly found himself surrounded by light; the tree he had picked was so tall its top overlooked the others.

He could not help but waste a few seconds to take in his surroundings.  
It was like standing in a sea of leaves. The sky above him was colored in many hues of blue, while the forest stretched on all around him for miles and miles. While the hectares on which rain clouds casted vast shadows looked gloomy and dark, the ones exposed under the sun were radiantly green.

On the horizon, a snowy mountain chain surrounded by more clouds rose sharply. It could only be the mountains McCree had referred to, and it was on their path. They had been walking in the right direction without knowing it; considering their remarkable string of bad luck, that was incredibly fortunate.  
Judging from the distance, they would be out of the woods by the end of the week or so. Which was fortunate, for he strongly desired to leave this humid hell.

However, when Hanzo turned his head to look for the cause of the disturbance, the wonder spurred by the sight was sucked out of him.  
Several miles away, white and grey smoke came from the trees and departed with the wind, forcing the archer to shield his eyes.  
A forest fire. It seemed to affect only a small area from afar, but surely it would not stay contained for very long.  
For Hanzo, there was only one plausible cause to a fire, and it was none other than the infamous Junkrat. The pyromaniac blond probably had had enough with ghost stories and decided to get his revenge by torching them with the forest. A reckless and stupid plan, but that seemed to fit the character of the eccentric bandit.

The archer was about to go back down when a much harder earthquake shook the entire area. It was so violent a few trees nearby collapsed in a deep rumble.  
Hanzo immediately ducked to cling to the trunk with all his might, hoping this one would hold. He could almost swear he heard McCree call for him from below, but he could not be sure with the wind and the row caused by the replica.

Once it finally stopped, he was able to stand and look one more time at the fire. What he noticed was something all the more worrying.  
There now was a whole lot of smoke coming from the ignited spot, the fumes black and heavy as if someone had thrown in an accelerant. And it was not just that; near the fire, the trees were still shaking peculiarly violently, as if the ground was still quaking in that area. The strong wind was still blowing, but there was a neat difference between the rustled foliage and that disturbance, which was now displacing itself away from the fire.

That could only mean one thing.  
 _Something_ was violently making its way through the woods, something so big and large that it managed to knock down a tree or two on its way. It was fleeing the proliferating fire, but it also seemed to be heading right toward them.  
The foliage blocked out Hanzo’s view, preventing him from getting any glimpse of the thing. But he was not going to wait and find out. Whatever _it_ was, it would surely have no trouble crushing the two of them like bugs.

Without wasting more precious time, he hurriedly climbed down the tree.

To his relief, McCree was unharmed; he was still waiting on the stump, the cowboy chewing on a cigar. A tree had fallen over remarkably close to his spot, yet fortunately spared him by a few centimeters off the right.  
“What's up spiderman?” He asked with a jittery smile.

Hanzo jumped down the last few meters, managing to land on a bug-free piece of grass. “Fire. There is a forest fire a few kilometers away, and it is spreading.” He replied, rushing to the cowboy and pulling him by the arm.  
McCree's lower jaw dropped, but Hanzo went on before he could say a word. “There is more; an unidentified creature is coming right toward us.  
\- Wait what?” The cowboy gasped before he tore his arm from the archer's grip. “Darlin' _wait_! Hold the phone, what is comin' toward us?  
\- I do not know McCree, I could not see it!” Hanzo retorted, frustrated and frantic. They did not have the time to argue! “If you must know, it is able to tear trees down on its path and most likely hostile considering every living being in this forest is on the run!” He pointed at the ground; there were less bugs and reptiles than prior the earthquake, but still enough to emphasize his point. “We need to go now!”

Jesse grabbed him by the shoulders. “Okay, okay, I believe ya but please, let's all stay calm for a sec'.” He pleaded through his teeth. His hands were shivering and his eyes; he was visibly struggling to keep his distress under control.  
Hanzo felt a tinge of regret for snapping at him, so he repressed his turmoil and did his best to regain his usual composure while the cowboy breathed deeply. “McCree?” He asked as quietly as he could.  
“The mountains. Did ya get a look at the mountains?” The cowboy mumbled after exhaling heavily.  
“Yes, we were going the right way all along.” Hanzo replied without a trace of his prior agitation. “May we leave now? It was moving quite fast and I really have no wish to make acquaintance with it.” He calmly added.

Jesse let go of him and firmly shoved his Stetson on his head. The stress had given way to resolution. “I'll open the way.”

–

They bolted as fast as they could through the woods, trying not to pay attention to the sparse crunching sounds beneath their soles. Over the sound of his own breathing and the blood pulsating in his ears, Hanzo could barely make out anything outside of McCree's strings of apologies to the unfortunate 'poor buggers' he crushed.  
Again nature got in the way, twisted roots and tree trunks littering the way sharp plus branches whipping across the their bodies every now and then. One nearly poked the archer in the eye, leaving a stinging cut right beneath his eyelid. But he payed no mind to it, his mind set on following McCree and dodging the other incoming obstacles.

His hope that they would never accouter the creature coming after them shriveled like a rotten apple when they abruptly came to another stop.

There was an impressing ravine in the way. The gap between each side was too large to be jumped over, even with a brave horse like Sis, and it seemed to be cutting the forest in two on a certain length.  
Small trees and bushes had grown along the edges, roots hanging into the void. In the depths, a thick fog shiftlessly hovered, completely masking the bottom of the ravine. The only thing that broke the illusion of an endless fall was the distant murmur of water coming from below.  
If they had not been chased, Hanzo would have tried dropping a rock down to measure the fall. But there was little to no doubt that it was not a drop they would survive.

Fortunately, there was a way across nearby; a bridge made of wood and metal linked the two sides of the ravine. Lianas hung around from the tall trees bordering the edge, some attached like ropes to the structure.  
However, a closer look revealed that the wooden parts were covered with mushrooms and the metallic surfaces eaten by rust, not to mention that numerous planks were either hanging off the bridge or simply missing.   
It looked about as unreliable as it could get. Unfortunately, it was the only option they had in sight.

McCree swore quite loudly, causing Hanzo to immediately turn and face him. The cowboy looked plainly horrified, his face as pale as a parchment sheet.  
The archer almost cursed too; he had forgotten about the man's fear of heights. “Will you be alright?” He prudently asked.  
As Jesse failed to give an intelligible answer, he quickly thought about potential solutions. “We could try getting across together if it makes you feel safer.  
\- Ya crazy? That bridge ain’t gonna hold, it’s prehistorical!” McCree rebutted, chewing so hard on his cigar that he was not far from cutting it in two. “Nope, nope, nope. Too risky. Either one of us trips an' bumps into the other an' the other falls, or this thing jus' gives up under our combined weight an' we're goin' down with it.” He muttered through his teeth, clenching and unclenching his hands. “I’ve always avoided crossin' that bridge, nothin’ about it looks safe. This ain't like the broken Plate where I'm too scared o' climbin', I jus' _know_ that this thing will collapse.”

Hanzo rubbed a hand across his face. There was no point pinning the cowboy for his unusual pessimism, they did have a serious case of bad luck to justify his wariness. “There is another way around then? As in around this gap or over it?  
\- This is the ass crack of the forest darlin'. It starts from the very East edge of the woods and goes through all the way to the West border. Goin' all the way around wouldn't take a week but a month. What I'm talkin' about is a second bridge, well some sorta natural bridge further East. It's basically a massive tree that fell over years ago durin' a landslide. 'S kinda rugged an' difficult to move over, but it’s far sturdier than this deathtrap.  
\- Could we go there then? If it makes you feel better-  
\- That's sweet of ya, but the edge of the ravine's ain’t a straight line. Most of it is crooked an' impracticable. We'd have to double-track by a good margin an'…” He paused; the ground was shaking rhythmically under their feet, as if something heavy was stomping closer and closer. “There's a big chance we'll meet face t'face with whatever’s comin’ for us anytime soon. Hope ya’re ready for a fight in case that happens by the way.  
\- Even if we manage to kill this thing, you forget about one thing. There is still the propagating fire, and a bullet between its flames will not do the trick.” Hanzo ironized. Hardly the appropriate time for jest, but the tiny smirk it brought on the cowboy's lips was worth it. “If you are so terrified of setting a foot on this bridge, how about I carried you across?  
\- Oh my hero, that's even sweeter. Ya'd carry me like a bride or we're talkin' about a piggyback ride?” McCree joked before he grunted, resigned. “Look. I'm a thousand percent sure this bridge can't take our weight all at once, so we’ll have to get on it one at a time. Ya go first 'cause you'll assuredly be faster than me. I’ll cover for ya meanwhile. Then once ya're on the other side, I-I guess I'll go while ya cover for me. Seems like a good plan, don't ya think?”

Unlike their time prior to the broken Plate, the idea of leaving Jesse to either face the danger or deal with his fear on his own seemed absolutely wrong. “McCree, you cannot stay here and fight whatever is coming by yourself!” Hanzo insisted, tension slowly climbing its way up his spine. “I agree that taking this bridge is a risk in itself, but staying behind is simply reckless!”  
The cowboy sighed softly, then he shook his head. “Go first sugar, you get shotgun. I'll keep the thing at bay if it comes, ya can count on me.”

Hanzo swallowed, an acerbic reply dying on his tongue. Such stubbornness was almost admirable; it was another thing they had in common. “Fine.” He spat recalcitrantly. “But you will have to be quick once it is your turn. If that thing gets us because you were too slow, I will go back on this bridge and drag you all the way to safety by the skin of your ass.  
\- Thanks babe, that's real helpful. I'll keep that in mind when I'll be walkin' over the abyss like a clown on a tightrope.” Jesse retorted, mockingly tipping his hat. “Now go.”

Hanzo obliged, moving to the bridge. Upon taking a few steps, he immediately understood why Jesse was so wary of it. The entire bridge creaked menacingly beneath his feet, and the remaining planks were either very moldy or dislodged from their slots.  
Perhaps making their way across safely was going to be more difficult than he anticipated.

The stomping was becoming more pronounced and audible, causing the bridge to vibrate beneath Hanzo's feet. Time was running out. “This should be sturdy for the two of us cowman. You really should come along.” He said despite his lack of assurance and the cowboy’s stubbornness. Leaving him behind not only felt wrong at this point, it was intolerable. “If we go a few meters apart, we should be fine.  
\- Darlin’ I ain’t goin’ on the premise of a ‘should’, okay? Jus’ stop lookin' back an' focus on yer feet, ya’re scarin’ me!” Jesse hissed, shooing him away with a wave of the hand. It was pointless, he would simply not cross at the same time.  
The archer sighed and progressed as confidently as he could, managing to maintain his balance despite the unsteadiness and overall ricketiness of the bridge.

As the menacing rumble suddenly became stronger and louder, Hanzo could not help but freeze, turning to look back despite the cowboy's demand.  
There was something massive moving among the shadows, growing as it approached. The foul smell was back, overpowering the burning wood. McCree had retreated closer to the bridge, taking cover behind a large tree. He had unholstered Peacekeeper and was waiting, body tensed and ready to leap into action.

Hanzo tore his eyes away from the cowboy and rushed despite the precarious state of the bridge. He knew he was risking big doing this, but he could not stay in the open when danger was so close. And the faster he got to the other side, the sooner McCree would follow.

Suddenly, the moment Hanzo got halfway through, a plank snapped beneath his foot. Before he could realize what was going on, he was falling through the bridge.  
“ _Hanzo!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend this chapter to end on a cliffhanger, in fact it was going to be way longer! But I got sick during the writing and had an anxiety fit that kept me from finishing it in time ʕ꒦ິᴥ꒦ິ`ʔ sorry y'all.
> 
> Also no, I have never experienced an earthquake and I could not find a single website saying what to do during an earthquake in a forest, so I hope Hanzo's reaction is accurate or at least reasonable ʕ˃̵ᴥ˂̵;ʔ


	23. Jubokko pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Jesse has a very bad day  
> Alternate title n°2: this is not a forest fire PSA, but don't start forest fire please.  
>  ***WARNING* : no more bugs, but detailed description of something a little ickier (´̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ಊ`̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooowdy y'all ʕ≧ᴥ≦❀ʔ
> 
> Thank all of you for the kudos and comments, and especially the peeps who asked if I was okay. I've had a bit of a rough time dealing with a cold and a low mood, but I'm back on tracks now (ง'̀-‘́)ง
> 
> So this is part 2 of the chapter I was planning to upload in one setting. Good thing I did not because this got out of hand!
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's the cover art I made for this new chapter! There are a couple doodles also + a spoiler I've hidden (˃̵ヮ˂̵)](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/165197995826/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-arisen-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this new chapter, which I had fun writing even though it is an action scene ʕ❀;/)ᴥ(\ʔ I did not have the time to double-check for mistakes however, so I vividly apologize if I made any!

Time abruptly came to a stop.

Hanzo remembered that breathtaking sensation; suspended over the void in complete stillness, his body helplessly paralyzed yet his mind fully aware in real time. It was the exact same thing he had felt back when Sis had done her incredible jump.  
This time however, he was not sitting on the back of a horse and clinging onto McCree's waist for dear life. This time he was alone, about to plummet down into the unknown depths below.

Although the fog made it difficult to properly evaluate the distance, the impact with the water at the bottom from this height would most likely be fatal. Supposing he survived it, there was a risk of the river being too shallow to cushion his fall.

For a brief moment, he was seized with the fear he would wake up right now. He did not want another cliffhanger, he would not be able to withstand another day stressing about what would happen next with his downbeat mood. And even if he managed to do it, he feared he would be unable to react in time to save himself.

Much to his horror, his vision blurred and the ravine dissipated before his eyes; it all melted into the white ceiling above his head and the walls of his room bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights. He could feel the cold, humid air being replaced by the safe coziness of his futon.  
In a heartbeat, Hanzo shut his eyes as tightly as he could. Angst dug its claws in his head, but he resolutely tuned it out and pictured himself back in the dream. Maybe, just maybe, he would fall back asleep.

After a few tensed seconds, he hesitantly opened them again.  
He was staring into the foggy abyss, still frozen in place. The moist chilliness was back, numbing the tip of his fingers and his nose.  
Drowsiness had triumphed over awakening.

But Hanzo did not have the chance to savor his victory.  
Everything was slowly coming back into motion, including his body. If he did not want to make acquaintance with the bottom of the ravine and be startled out of sleep, he had to react right now.  
Solely relying on instinct and the adrenaline rush, the archer reached out for the closest item in his reach, which turned out to be a tangle of lianas hanging against the bridge. Hanzo feared it might fail to support him, but it was his only option.  
Moving was difficult, the air around him thicker than molasses, but he persevered nonetheless.

At the very last instant before time returned to its normal speed, his hand made contact with one of the vines and he grasped it with all his strength.

The moment the liana he had seized was subjected to his weight, it detached from the tangle and tore itself from the bridge. But it held on, the inertia sending the archer swinging all the way across the ravine toward the opposite edge.  
Hanzo could barely refrain from screaming as he approached the other side too fast. He only had had a second to estimate his trajectory and which right timing letting go of the liana would allow him to land safely.

Thus his heart leaped in his throat as he released the vine and prayed he had calculated right.  
His body flew for a brief second, then he collided into a bush. The small branches were prickly, but the numerous leaves and the thick layers of moss covering the ground cushioned his fall.  
While he could have landed in a less disgraceful way, he had at least avoided slamming into one of the trees bordering the ravine like a Tarzan wannabe.

A cry cut through his relieved stupor.  
“Shimada!”  
McCree was screaming his name at the top of his lungs repeatedly, forcing him to rapidly emerge from the bush despite the branches pulling at his Gi.  
The cowboy was standing on the bridge, clinging onto the rope railing and looking down at the abyss, desperately searching for a sign of his partner. He had most likely missed his miraculous recovery and rushed onto the decrepit bridge in spite of his fear and the menacingly creaking planks.

The shock and panic on Jesse's face begat a visceral emotion in Hanzo's heart, an emotion that impelled him to ease the cowboy's fear immediately. “McCree! Over here!” He called, vigorously waving at him from the other side.  
The cowboy immediately looked up and whooped out of pure joy at his sight. “Fuckin' hell, ya scared the bejesus outta me ya fuckin' asshole! How did ya get there? Ya frickin' flew?” He shouted, his relief so contagious Hanzo found the strength to smile and shrug mockingly.

Then a tree suddenly collapsed into the ravine, cutting short to the shared exhilaration. The archer looked across the ravine, eyes locked onto the shadows moving within the forest. He had almost forgotten about the creature that had them on the run.

And now, through the gap created by the fall of the tree, he had a direct view of it.

It was absolutely massive, so much so that only a small portion of its body visible; most of it was still obstructed by the remaining trees. But the ‘little’ Hanzo could see was something of a Lovecraftian horror. He could not make head or tail of what he was looking at, but it was ultimately frightening and disturbing.  
If Reaper had appeared grotesque with ghostly body and many eyes, this creature far outranked the owl in terms of nightmarish imagery and madness. Hanzo had felt sick to his stomach from the mephitis alone, but the frightful sight was blood-curdling.  
It was made of twisted, doubtfully shaped matter covered with a dark, organic-like substance that resembled tar. Whatever the liquid was, it sweated out of the creature and trickled onto the ground in quantities. Judging from the way the drops sizzled and the awful stench that filled the air, there was no doubt to be had about its hazardous potential.  
Among the clumped matter, roots and branches were probing out like arms, moving and twisting around in a sickening row. Red leaves cluttered the oily bark of the branches, and blank pustules roamed all over the frame of the creature like grotesque, glassy eyes.

Hanzo made no movement whatsoever as he stared at this otherworldly abomination. His mind however was slowly getting over the petrifying horror, screaming two peculiar words that fully woke him out of anguished incomprehension.  
'Carnivorous trees.'  
“Are you kidding me?” He uttered out loud in response, stunned and appalled.

Jesse on the other hand had not yet digested the apparition. He was pale, still and unusually silent as he gazed at the monstrous display from the bridge. Then he suddenly regained the use of speech and movement as he swore up a storm while firing at the thing in a rapid succession, his colorful curses drowned out by the gunshots resonating on the walls of the ravine.

The creature was only perfunctorily affected by the assault, a slight jolt being its only reaction to the bullets lodging into its frame and sending splitters and dark drops flying all around. The moment McCree stopped to reload his gun however, it let out a terrible roar that almost rendered the two of them deaf.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Hanzo growled through his teeth, freeing his arm from the sleeve of his Gi and reaching for his bow. How could he have left that ridiculous, Midnight Society horror story affect him, to the point he now had nonsensical nightmares bleeding into his dreams? He dared not imagine what this would do to them if it got a hold on their bodies, for it may make it happen too.  
While he could not possibly imagine the reason or metaphor or any shred of sense that had engendered this monstrosity, he was certain of one thing; facing such a foe, there was no room for indecision.

He barely had the time to notch an arrow before something lashed out from the woods. Muddy roots coated with black substance and dead leaves were moving toward McCree, who took them down all except one as he ran out of bullets once more.  
The archer had to intervene, even though he was far and the root was flailing so fast that he could hardly predict its course.  
Rather than letting hesitation delay his hand, Hanzo aimed and released the fletching with the calmness and determination he experienced through archery. This time there were no obstacles between him and the target, only its moving speed and the hollering wind.

The arrow reached its mark and the root reared back, whipping through the air angrily. Other roots and branches lashed out of the woods, but there were not directed at the cowboy. In fact they were blindly reaching out, as if trying to evade something.  
That was when Hanzo noticed the orange, flickering glow from behind the creature and the low rumble.  
The forest fire had propagated awfully fast; was it all the work of the wind blowing in their direction, or could it be that the dark substance was inflammable? If that was the case, then their foe was about to be consumed by flames and most assuredly destroy everything in the vicinity. Including the precarious wooden bridge on which the cowboy stood.

“Run McCree! Hurry up!” Hanzo shouted over the creaking of the creature's limbs and the crackling of the flames.  
The cowboy obeyed, turning around and dashing across the bridge while the archer fired more arrows to strike the roots down.

However Jesse met a similar fate than Hanzo had; a moldy plank gave beneath his foot.  
But instead of fully falling through the bridge, the cowboy stayed stuck halfway through, gaining a few precious seconds to get a hold on the railing before the plank broke furthermore and left the three quarters of his body suspended in the air.

The pained yelp that escaped his mouth tore Hanzo from his concentration, the archer chilled when he saw his predicament. “McCree! Are you alright?  
\- ‘M okay, jus’ stuck like Chuck!” Jesse winced, trying to pull himself up but failing; he only had his metallic hand desperately clenching the worn rope to keep him from fully sliding off through the bridge, his other hand holding onto Peacekeeper.  
He was about to shove the firearm back in its holster when more roots came back for him, forcing him to awkwardly twist his body around and fire.

Once McCree would run out of bullets, he would be completely helpless. Hanzo was all too aware of that. He had to go back on the bridge and pull the cowboy up, while dodging the unreliable planks.  
Before he could set a foot on it, one large root dived beneath the structure and pierced through the planks, throwing pieces of woods all around at it angrily trashed.  
The cowboy immediately shot at it with his last bullets until the barrel was empty, while Hanzo dived aside to take cover. The root went down, but the gap it left in the bridge was too wide to be jumped over. There was no way for the archer to reach Jesse now.

The caused damage had weakened the structure to such an extent that the railing Jesse was holding onto got looser, leaving him completely hanging in the void.  
As the tree creature was still approaching and reaching out for the cowboy's kicking legs with its limbs, all Hanzo could do was firing more arrows to keep him safe. But they could not go on like this, the bridge falling apart slowly but surely.

“McCree, I cannot reach you!” He shouted over the row, hoping Jesse could hear him in spite of the noises and the fright of falling crippling him. “Catch one of the lianas and swing across!”  
The cowboy weakly nodded, slowly holstering his gun with a shaking hand. He then reached up to hold onto a nearby supporting beam with both hands, but did nothing else afterward. Either he was paralyzed with fear or busy building up his courage.  
Hanzo shot more arrows at the creature, but it was inexorably coming closer to the bridge. The fire was gaining ground too, the flames proliferating and dense smoke coming behind the black mess of roots and branches.

At this rate, the contraption was going to collapse any second now.  
“Jesse!” Hanzo yelled out of despair. There was absolutely nothing he could do to save the cowboy and it was driving him mad.

A root whipped too close to McCree’s hand, making him lose his grip onto the beam.

For a tense second, a cold dread clenched Hanzo's heart like a vise-like grip, as he feared the cowboy would die here. Failing to grab a liana and falling to his death, or being caught by the creature's roots and dying in a fashion too horrifying to conjure. 

But neither these things happened.  
Jesse landed straight in the tangle of vines and managed to seize one of the hanging plants in extremis. He swung toward the edge, spinning and shouting. Hanzo let go of his bow and extended a hand up for McCree to catch.  
However Jesse's inertia failed to send him close enough; he paused too far from the archer, their fingers not even brushing before he swung back toward the monstrosity like a pendulum.

With a cry much more painful for the ears than Reaper's screeches, the creature tried catching the approaching cowboy in its branches.

Hanzo did not waste a second, arming his bow with three arrows. A burning sensation ran up his left arm as he aimed, but he ignored it. To hell with muscle cramps, he would not fail the cowboy now.  
In a single shot, he simultaneously fired all of them, his teeth clenched and a silent prayer on the tip of his tongue.

The three arrows hit the creature, two of them piercing one of the many eye-like blisters covering the thing. It must have been a sensitive spot, for a horrible noise sounded throughout the woods. Hanzo almost cried out too, his eardrums flaring in agony. Another roar of this intensity and his head would burst.

His initiative payed off nonetheless; the creature retracted its roots, heavily contorting against the trees. But as it was having its pained fit, one of the red-leaved branches came too close to a tree on fire and ignited.

In a matter of seconds, the entirety of the dark mass had suddenly flared up into a massive ball of flames. The wail it let out sent Hanzo onto his knees, the archer dropping his bow to press his palms against his ears.  
The immense entity moved away from the fire, drawing further toward the edge of the ravine and clambering onto the bridge. Its inflamed branches and roots trashed uselessly, grasping at nothing. Hanzo could only watch, unable to think with the pain piercing through his brain. He knew he had to move out of the way, but his body was unresponsive.

Then the inevitable mercifully happened; the bridge gave up after all the abuse. The entire infrastructure collapsed altogether, precipitating the burning creature down into the foggy ravine. Several seconds later, there was a big splash coming from below, then the forest grew silent. Hanzo slowly released his head, the sharp pain having dulled into a throbbing migraine. Even the fire consuming the trees on the other side sounded remarkably quiet now that the thing was gone.

Hanging in the middle of the ravine and slightly swaying with the winds, Jesse gasped incredulously. “I think it’s gone!” He chuckled breathlessly, relief overcoming fear. “Now what? How am I gonna reach ya?  
\- How about you swing your legs back and forth?” The archer weakly replied, his own voice hurting his abused ears. Hopefully his tympanums had not ruptured.  
“I guess I don't really have a choice… But don't ya yell at me if I puke on yer shoes the moment I land!  
\- After this, I honestly do not give a shit about the state of my shoes McCree.”

It took some time for Jesse to gain some inertia, the cowboy having to move his legs back and forth like he would on a seesaw, while Hanzo patiently waited and slowly recovered from the action. His body was numb and his arms were aching, but it was a minor price to pay in exchange of their safety.

When McCree finally swung close enough to the edge, Hanzo was ready to catch him.

That was when the liana abruptly got loose and the cowboy ended up planting on the rocky wall. Hanzo immediately rushed to the edge, but the cowboy had managed to stop his fall just below the edge by grasping at hanging roots.  
“Are you alright?” The archer asked. He would have laughed if it was not for the worry and pity he felt for the cowboy.  
“This really ain't my day.” McCree growled out of pain and annoyance. He tried hoisting himself up, but his trembling arms gave up and he slacked back down. “Gimme a hand darlin' will ya? I’m beat an’ I don't think I can deal with this crap for very much longer.” He protested breathlessly.

Hanzo approached to give him a hand when he suddenly froze. An unpleasant feeling poked at the back of his head, as if somebody was watching him.  
“Hold on.” He whispered, deaf to the cowboy's complaining. He looked up at the burning woods, scrutinizing the flames and smoke.

Had he blinked at this precise moment, he would have missed the silver speck caused by sunlight reflecting on metal for a microsecond.  
Hanzo hastily rolled aside. The projectile bounced against the sturdy bark of the root and fell into the ravine. The archer did not have the time to see its nature before disappeared into the fog.

Jesse yelped in surprise, ducking his head while he held onto the wall. “Give us a break for fuck’s sake!” He shouted at the woods, before turning his attention to Hanzo. “Darlin'!  
\- Hold on!” Hanzo retorted. More projectiles were thrown toward them and he had to dash to his bow. The moment he could, he fired back. His arrows met the projectiles halfway through their course and deflected them, while he slowly moved back toward the cowboy.

As their new assailant paused to dodge his retaliation, the archer lowered his bow and reached for Jesse, pulling him up with all the strength he could muster.

Together they dashed behind a tree for cover and practically collapsed on top of each other, the cowboy's chest heaving and Hanzo's entire body aching again. While the trunk was large enough to protect the two of them, they both stayed against each other, more preoccupied about their safety than proximity.

Once the projectiles definitely stopped coming, Hanzo pulled away from McCree and snuck a quick look past the bark.  
All he got was the glimpse of a dark figure moving between the calcined trunks. In a blink, it was gone.

He slumped back against the tree and turned his attention to McCree. The cowboy's chest was heaving and his Stetson had collapsed over his face. “Are you alright?” He asked again, reaching out for the hat.  
Jesse beat him to it, as he grabbed the brim and tilted it up; his face was glistening with sweat and marked with tiredness, but he seemed fine. “Right as rain. More fear than casualty.” He panted, before straightening up.

Hanzo copied him, vaguely aware that his naked arm was pressing against McCree's shoulder. None of them had the force to move, or the will to give a damn about it.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that really was somethin'. I thought yesterday was the most action we'd get durin' our passage through the forest!” Jesse weakly protested, tugging on his bandana to loosen the knot. “But nope! Earthquake, forest fire, angry demon tree that pops outta nowhere… My old job used to be pretty borin' in comparison, believe my word on that!  
\- I thought you were ‘pulling my leg’ with the whole ‘carnivorous trees’ thing.” Hanzo cut, staring at McCree with a frown. “You could have told me that it was an actual thing in this realm!”

Jesse stared back at him with wide eyes. “That's the thing sweetheart, I also didn’t think it was true!” He hastily defended himself, tilting the brim of his hat to shield his eyes from the archer’s piercing glare. “When Reaper told me that story, I thought he was jus’ tryin’ to spook me so I’d never accidentally start a forest fire with my cigars. Kinda like Yogi Bear doin' fire prevention, except as a vengeful owl spirit that kicks ass. Didn’t think _that_ of all things was legit!  
\- The silly story about the city men turning up dead after attempting to cut down a tree was his doing too?  
\- Nah, that's an anecdote used to prove the legend's true, no one actually knows what happened to these folks. What Reaper told me's that if someone or somethin’ was tryin’ to mess with the forest, the forest warden, which I guess that freak-ass thing was, would take matters in their own hands an’ jus’ take out whatever’s nearby. After what happened to the city folks, it was almost too easy to associate the legend with their fate an’ make sure nobody ever came here to fuck around.  
\- Why would you spread such a story if you had no proof that it was connected?  
\- It’s hard enough to track down the toughest criminals, I don’t want 'em hidin’ out here! Sure there’s Reaper to help, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep people from invadin’ his turf constantly. A goose chase in this place ain't exactly fun.”

Hanzo sighed. He was too exhausted to argue and the cowboy's reasoning was not completely ludicrous. After all, the dragon legends associated to the Shimadas emanated from centuries ago, told to terrorize gullible people into submission and maintain their control over their territory.

“There's somethin' I don't get thought.” McCree spoke again. “That thing tried to kill us a'right an' I guess the junkers probably didn't make it out if they were in the area, but it completely missed that one guy who attacked us last. Ya’ve got to be pretty lively to be throwin’ stuff around.  
\- Speaking of which,” Hanzo reached over Jesse's chest for his right shoulder; right above the shoulder blade, a throwing star was embedded into the chest armor. “Do you know someone who uses shurikens?” He asked while removing the projectile.

McCree did not reply right away, gazing at the weapon with amazement. “Ninja stars? Nope, this is the first time I ever see somethin' like this. 'S cool an' kinda fucked up at the same time.” He removed his leather glove, then reached out and rubbed a thumb over the blade to evaluate its sharpness. “Of all the bounty hunters I know, none o’ them uses anythin' remotely close to that. If they’ve been trackin' us down since Li’l Bones’ Creek, then they must have kept real low ‘cause I don’t remember ever seein’ a ninja before ya showed up.  
\- I saw too little of them to confirm or deny your hypothesis.” Hanzo sighed. He wished he had taken a better look back then.

Jesse dismissed his refutal with a shrug. “That thing's proof enough for me. But ya reckon they'll give up now that the bridge’s gone? There’s the natural one I told you ‘bout, but it takes a while to get there an’ the quakes might’ve destroyed it. Even if it’s still up, we’ll have reached the mines long before that hunter catches up on us.  
\- If they are driven by the bounty on your head, the treasure or both, they will most likely not give up.” Hanzo muttered, rummaging his thoughts as he examined the throwing star minutely.

Shurikens used to be Genji's favorite weapon. His aim had been as good as Hanzo's with a bow, except that he had used this particular skill to impress potential bed partners during parties. They were notorious among projectile weapons around the world. The imaginary cowboy in his head's knowing what they were was not a long stretch.  
What Hanzo found hard to believe however was that this was all just a coincidence with the brief vision of his brother in the crowd back in Little Bones’ Creek.  
What if Genji, or rather a copy of Genji produced by his mind, was here?  
It could not be.  
And yet he highly doubted that this mysterious assailant was a bounty hunter. To collect a bounty, a body was needed as proof of death. Yet their hunter had almost sent Jesse to his death down in the foggy depths of the ravine, for Hanzo was certain that the liana had not snapped naturally. There was no way a hunter would risk losing sixty million dollars like that.  
It had been an attempt of assassination.  
And if there was something he suspected Genji to feel once he woke from his coma and found out what had happened, it was hating the one who had destroyed his life.  
Perhaps wishing him dead.

Jesse nudging his naked shoulder pulled him out of his dark thoughts and he realized that the cowboy had just told him something. “What did you say, cowman?” He added to hide his preoccupation.  
“Back then, ya called me Jesse.” McCree hummed, his innocent smile but his gaze a little sly.

Hanzo frowned as he recalled the scene. Indeed he had involuntarily shouted the cowboy’s first name. While he dreaded to know where this conversation was heading, he decided that entertaining the cowboy after a near-death experience would be an act of mercy for the two of them.  
“I may have done so in the heat of the moment.” He admitted, tucking the shuriken in his quiver before he crossed his arms over his chest. “What is your point?  
\- Well ya’ve been callin' me McCree or cowman ever since we met, so hearin’ my first name from yer mouth was kinda refreshin'. Sure ya were basically yellin' at me, but still refreshin’. Anyway, my point is that it'd be a shame to have gone through all that intense bullcrap an' still treat each other like complete strangers. So I suggest we stick to first names from now on. What do ya say 'bout that?”

Hanzo sighed heavily. “I can hardly recall the times you did not refer to me by one of your distasteful pet names, which is not a way to address someone you just met.  
\- Guilty as charged. But seriously, call me Jesse an’ I’ll call ya Hanzo… That should help me tone down the pet names. Please?” He added, his voice pitching a little higher with hope.

The archer sighed again, bumping his head against the trunk of the tree. This was a request simple enough, not as committing as a kiss. He had no qualms refusing that request. “I accept your offer. But if you wish to be so familiar, pronounce my name right at least. It is 'Hanzo', not 'hand-so'.  
\- Got it! Thanks, Hanzo.” The cowboy whispered, letting the name roll on his tongue as if he was tasting a fine wine.  
That made the flustered archer look aside. He already regretted accepting. “You are welcome… Jesse.” He muttered under his breath before he pulled himself up and put his sleeve back on.

“We do have a moment’s relief since they will have to make a detour to reach the other bridge, but we should not linger.”  
He offered McCree a hand and the cowboy gracefully accepted, while ranting under his breath. “Forest o' tranquility my ass, what the heck was I thinkin’ callin' it that? Fuck it, I’m definitely renaming it. Whaddya think darlin', Rotdown Forest? Hundred Acre of Death Wood? I'd pick Mirkwood, but it's already taken an' there ain't giant spiders. Thank God for that, 'cause I'd take a killer tree over giant bugs on any day.  
\- I would take neither.” Hanzo replied, resisting the urge of rolling his eyes. The first name basis was probably not going to help much with McCree's inability to call him anything but horrid pet names.

Before he could point it out, the cowboy cupped his own mouth with a stern expression. “Ah shoot, I do have one casualty to declare.” He muttered dolefully.  
Hanzo swirled back, taking a step toward the man. He had deemed him fine earlier, had he missed something? “What? What is it?” He pressed.  
“I lost my cigar. Either it fell from my mouth or I swallowed it at some point, I ain’t sure.” Jesse muttered sheepishly.

That was so unexpected that it broke the tension; a startled chuckle escaped Hanzo’s mouth before he could attempt to stifle it. McCree immediately stared at him with an expression so sour that it only contributed to the sheer absurdity.  
He managed to contain a snort until the cowboy’s frown turned into fond amusement, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He was also trying not to crack up.  
His zygomatic arches quivered and before they knew what was happening, both of them were giggling uncontrollably.

Maybe it was their nerves giving away like blown fuses, or they were in dire need of a break. Hanzo could not be sure. Either way, that laughing fit was both exerting his body and reviving him.  
He still checked the ground for explosive mushrooms just in case, but found nothing to suggest they were high.

“That will teach you indulging this nasty habit. Especially now that we know fire summons an eldritch beast made of wood and inflammable stuff.” Hanzo calmly said with a smile once he had a better control over himself.

–

They pushed through for a few kilometers to get as far away as possible from the fire. The flames had stopped at the ravine, but the wind carried the heavy smoke across the woods and made the air barely breathable. After taking on the creature, dying of asphyxiation was wholly inadmissible.

“I hope the fire won't spread furthermore than it has.” McCree muttered between coughs. “This forest is already as fucked as it is by parasites, last thing it needed was that of all things.  
\- If we have a weather similar to yesterday's, that ought to smother the flames. Besides, what has been destroyed will grow back once the ground cools down.” The archer replied. He knew it was little consolation for the nature-loving man, but he had not much to offer. “What I do not understand is how come it even propagated in the first place, when everything from the ground to the air itself is humid. I mean, the creature clearly was flammable, but the fire had begun before it acted like an accelerant.”  
He remembered seeing the smoke changing before and after the earthquake. Now he knew that the heavy smoke had been caused by the oily liquid.

Jesse pointed at a collapsed tree; it was devoid of leaves, its bark grey and insides hollow. “There are plenty o' dead trees around here. The outside's as damp as the air itself, but the core's bone-dry. If ya never saw a dead tree catch on fire, ya'd be surprised by how quickly it degenerates. In less than a minute, the whole thing’s ablaze.”  
He then pensively passed a hand through his hair, lines appearing on his forehead as he frowned. “Ya remember the tale I told you 'bout with the city men takin' trees down? I'm startin' to think they actually came here for petroleum, cause that thing sweated somethin' that looked an' smelled an awful lot like crude oil. An' ya saw how it lit up? T'was like the fourth of July if a drunk dropped a match in the box o' firework.”

Hanzo stiffly nodded, preoccupied by the baffling regret he was experiencing. It had nothing to do with the guilt he had fallen asleep with and he could not fathom why he was feeling this way.  
“I-I am sorry you had to go through this.” He said after a short silence, unable to keep it to himself. He had already opened up to Jesse, clamming up now would do more harm than good.

The cowboy paused, staring at him like he had grown a second head. “Why are ya sayin' that for? This ain't yer fault hon-Hanzo, ya didn't start that fire.  
\- It inexplicably feels like I have, in one way.” The archer frowned. Having created this entire world and Jesse, he was directly responsible for anything that happened to them. Even if he had not been consciously doing it.  
“But ya didn't.” McCree replied, cupping his shoulders. “I'll remind ya that ya ain't the only one who pissed the junkers off, if Junkrat's the one who started the fire. I'm as responsible as ya are.  
\- I hardly see what else would have caused it.” The archer muttered. “There was no thunder outside of last night, which I suppose the 'warden' would not react to since it is not human interference. We were also very careful to put out the fire we lit in that barn, and the fire began far away from that spot. So unless the ashes of your cigar somehow lit up the forest a day after our passage, then Junkrat is the only likely culprit.”  
Once he had concluded, Jesse firmly squeezed his shoulders. “Then ya have it. That hyena, bless his heart, started the fire, an' now he's probably pushin' daisies. Or he made it out, I dunno. Maybe Roadhog an' him got lucky.”

Heavy rain eventually fell to their relief, although it forced them to improvise a makeshift shelter out of fallen branches and leaves for the night. Both men were cold and exhausted, but the relief of having survived such a day had not yet worn off.

Because of the lack of room under the shelter and the coldness of the evening, Hanzo had to snuggle against McCree. Luckily the cowboy spared him from his usual flirting. Either the latest events had made him mature up, or he worried Hanzo might snap if he dared.  
It turned out that he had been so exhausted that he had passed out against the archer, snoring against his hair.  
Rather than being annoyed, Hanzo was thankful. In the eerie stillness of the woods, the sound was somewhat comforting.

–

By the time Hanzo woke up, the sun was starting to shyly peek by his window and a few birds were singing in the trees nearby.  
He grabbed his phone to check the time and realized he had overslept. Well, not as late as nine o’clock, but it was an unusual hour for him to wake up at.

Nevertheless he did not regret falling back asleep. Not only it had allowed him to dodge another day of insufferable waiting, but it had given him the chance to save his own skin along with McCree's by a thin margin.

His mood had definitely improved; the weight in his chest had been partially lifted, and he felt ravenous instead of ill. Eating this morning would not be an issue.  
The crushing guilt was still there, but subsequently subdued. Unlike yesterday, he was energetic and motivated. Even the knowledge that he had to make his already frugal lifestyle all the more abstemious till the end of the year did not darken his relatively good morning.

He finished the rest of the bulgogi while single-handedly typing out 'last night's' events, not even losing his hunger when he detailed the meeting of the Jubokko.  
When he reached the conclusion however, he paused to wash the dishes and scout through his books. He had a hunch concerning the killer tree and he wanted to validate it.  
Once he found what he was looking for, he returned to his laptop and hastily typed:

“According to Shigeru Mizuki's study of Japanese monsters and ghosts, a tree that drank a considerable quantity of blood becomes Jubokko, or “child of the tree”, a malevolent yōkai that catches the feet of anyone passing by and feeds on their blood. It appears in places where battles occurred.  
I have never given much thought about the subject of yōkai in years since I was a child. Back then I knew a fair amount, either from stories taught to children for moral purposes or the peculiarly terrifying tales I would tell Genji just to frighten him.  
We were so naive back then. I used to worry about Akanamé visiting our bathroom if I did not scrub the tub clean, Genji stayed away from our koi pond because he believed that Kappa had taken residence there.

Of course, like the legends of the Dragons, we grew out of them. I certainly never thought about these stories until the appearance of Reaper. In his ghostly form, I first thought he was a kurodama, a black mass that oppresses sleepers by compressing the chest or the face.

And then there was that monstrosity, a piece of nightmare I never thought I had in me.  
McCree himself had never seen it before. It is fortunate we made it out when none of us had the upper hand.

What I cannot conceive is the reason behind the existence of this abomination that only appears when one harms the forest, whether it is by burning or cutting the trees down.  
Perhaps it is tightly linked to the behavior I displayed yesterday. Maybe this ugly mass was spawned by the similarly ugly things I felt.

(That idea implies that the forest is my state of mind. In that case, I believe I should be very worried.  
But it is no news to me that something is wrong with me. There is nothing I can to salvage it, beside hoping that it holds itself together as long as Genji needs me.  
I will focus on myself only when he will be awake, healthy, and hopefully forgiving in my regard for the accident. I highly doubt he would be though.)

In retrospect, forest fires surely would happen less often if a murderous tree-like monster came after whoever is in the vicinity. If the culprit truly was Junkrat, then I can only imagine what became of him and his partner in crime.  
As despicable as they were, I hope they did not suffer. _If_ Jubokko got to them.

However we have a new foe to be concerned about; the hunter that attempted to kill us right after the fall of Jubokko, with the use of shurikens.  
After Genji’s appearance in Little Bones’ Creek, I first thought I had been seeing things. But now I cannot help but wonder if I was not mistaking.  
If there is a version of my brother running around in this imaginary place.  
If that is the case, then I must expect the worst from it. For in my mind, there is no doubt that my brother would despise me for the accident. That he would try to kill me.

If it is not Genji, then I have yet to figure who this assassin is. I have not had to deal with hitmen in years, I cannot say I have missed being hunted.

At least the two fools that we are came out triumphant over their clash with Jubokko, even if they are far from being out of the woods. Literally as well as figuratively.  
I hope Reaper will come back soon. To have a supernatural entity watching over us would have been most comforting after yesterday’s events. Not to mention that his acute senses can pick a threat from a large radius.

Even though we are several steps forward on our enemies, we must stay on our guard. It is something of a miracle that both of us came out unharmed of this situation, prickly bushes aside.  
It is best not to court disaster.

Speaking of disaster, McCree is now to be referred to as Jesse, for he has asked me to call him by his given name. As much as this sudden closeness makes me a little weary, I should be glad he did not ask me to call him Justice. That would have been far too obnoxious.

His middle name intrigues me though. A bystander might find a bit presumptuous to press such powerful words upon your children the minute they are born, see it as a way to dictate them into fitting these names. In this case, I suppose I am to be blamed since I have made him up.  
Most Japanese names do carry certain meanings, some esthetic and others quite more significant. For instance, I have entirely leaned toward the second when naming the characters in ‘Fifteen years of hatred’:  
\- Kikuchi means chrysanthemum pond, thus why the title ‘Bloodstained chrysanthemum’ was unsubtle foreshadowing for anyone who knew the meaning of the name.  
\- Fujimi means immortality, invulnerability. It seems dramatically ironic to have named the character representing my mother so when I was going to make her die, but my mother deserved this name.  
Not once she was vulnerable, whether she was facing danger or death. Her murderer may have caught her by surprise, she fought back until she drew her dying breath, managing to severely impair him and prevent his escape.  
\- Tetsunori stands for iron tower, a most fitting name for the man my father was. From before mother’s death to the day his struggle with sickness came to an end, he was immovable, closed and cold.  
It was a secret to no one that he favored Genji. But the ways he shaped me from a child to the heir of the estate were never discussed. No one has ever asked me and I never felt compelled to tell anyone. Not even Genji. In one way, that unspoken might have been the first thing to draw us apart.  
\- Kazuki, paradoxically enough, evokes the hope of peace, harmony; it also designates the firstborn of a new generation, which turned out to be true since Genji and I are the first Shimadas that have abandoned the line of duty to my knowledge. Most likely the last too since the gumi was destroyed after our departure.  
\- Haneki unsurprisingly means winged spirit. It speaks for itself once one gets to know my brother; he was not called ‘Sparrow’ for nothing when he was a child. A free spirit, idle yet energetic, vain yet worthy, unambitious yet strong-headed and talented.”

Uncertain of what he could possibly add to the entry, Hanzo stopped it there. He had already addressed that confessing to an imaginary partner had done him more good than all of Zenyatta's sessions combined.

After sending the document to himself just in case and checking his mail for any response of his anonymous fan, he snuck out onto the rooftop to catch up on his practice and get some fresh air.

Afterward, he wondered on a hunch if he should not search in Genji's notebooks for the portraits that he had seen in his dreams. Who knew? Maybe his brother had shown him Jesse's one day, and he had based the cowboy's look on that portrait for a reason out of his grasp.  
The problem was that there were too many of them and they were not accessible. When he had moved out of his studio, Hanzo had preciously stored all of them in boxes, said boxes sealed and stacked in a corner of the flat.

Even if he gathered the courage to take on the tower of boxes, he was not peculiarly enthusiastic about disrupting Genji's belongings. And he would be unable to know which notebooks were supposed to be private unless he took a peek. The last thing he wanted was to find the nudes his brother had teased him about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No cowboy was wounded during the writing of this chapter ( ᐛ


	24. Time Passes By pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative titles:  
> \- Lucid Falling  
> \- Two fools find new ways to get themselves in a pickle  
> \- CSI Dream  
> \- One day I shall upload a long chapter instead of splitting them in two parts
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING : bones and a li'l bit of dark stuff**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooowdy y'all? ヾ(〃＾∇＾)ﾉ♪
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and sweet comments, you guys are just awesome <3
> 
> For this chapter and this chapter only, the format is a little different than usual; it's Hanzo writing down the entries and flashing-back to the dreams at the same time.  
> The reason behind this change is that I actually meant to skip over the week until the boys reach the mine. But of course the chapter got out of hand and got so long I had to cut it in half ʕ˃̵ᴥ˂̵;ʔ
> 
> [By the way, there is a new fanart for this fic](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/165520632741/bazel-tots-a-belated-thank-you-to-my-sweet), made by the wonderful bazel-tots who inspired me this AU ʕ꒦ິᴥ꒦ິ`ʔ
> 
>  
> 
> [Also here is the art I made for the chapter!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/165699834451/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-in-town-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)

Hanzo's week had passed uneventfully. Between dull routine, moderate mood swings and the perpetual depression clinging to his core, nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

He had more or less managed to keep bad thoughts at bay, although he knew they were never far. He had tried keeping his living space from getting bleaker by cleaning as often as necessary, even though disabling the heater made it as cold as a monastery.

He had revisited the poem about the forest, in order to bring a few improvements and hint at the climatic context. Then, feeling quite inspired, he had made two others; one based on the junkers that he had somehow turned into a fable, and the other detailing the many creative ways McCree could fill up silence with constant noise.  
Of course he had not explicitly mentioned the cowboy in the poem, but it hardly could be associated to anyone but Jesse; there were no other men in his life that were half as noisy, or owned belt buckles that stupidly large.  
If he managed to stay that inspired for his next poems, then perhaps he would never have to hand it over. Not because he was unsatisfied with the result, far from that; he merely wanted to keep it for himself, be a little possessive toward his strangest original character.

As for his mysterious fan, they had replied to his latest mail; after copiously thanking him for sharing these unreleased details, they had sworn “on their grave” that they would not share this to anyone. There was not much to gain from it anyway, for the books had been released years ago and the fandom had long since made up their own theories that were more or less close to the reality.  
Still it did not make Hanzo appreciate the promise any less. As aware as he was of how strange and reckless it was to put a bit of trust in the hands of a complete stranger, he had no qualms communicating with this person.

Toward the end of their reply, they had asked if he had any ongoing projects at the moment. That made the writer ponder; 'Two fools on a journey' could be considered as such, but he was not planning on ever releasing this work. It was a collection of dreams and personal thoughts, one he did certainly dedicate a lot of time and energy to update daily, but a very private work nonetheless. Releasing this to the public, even a small audience, was the equivalent of walking in the street _naked_.  
If anything, this compendium was supposed to serve only as a warm-up before his next novel.  
So he finished his own reply by evoking the poems he wrote for the Overwatch weekly paper, hoping the fan would not stumble onto the one he had written in the midsts of anxiety.

That was about all reality had to offer till the weekend.  
In the dreamland however, Hanzo had had a most fulfilling time.

In the span of the week, they had crossed the rest of the forest, and that crossing had turned out to be lively in both positive and negative ways.  
Well, mostly positive if he were to be honest.

While none of the events had managed to top off Monday night's unbelievable havoc, each day had brought more moments for the writer to faithfully consign.

 

**– Tuesday night**

“Today, the very first day after surviving Jubokko, I almost died by falling down a hole.

I had not seen the opening for it was completely camouflaged, like a trapping pit for wolves. Vines and sticks covered the hole, acting like a grate by retaining the dead leaves that fell over.  
This has been there for years and it withstood the earthquakes that shook the forest on Monday. But the moment I stepped on it, it unceremoniously gave away…]

The vines had snapped so abruptly beneath Hanzo’s shoes that he had already dived through the carpet of leaves before he realized what was happening.  
Once he had, he tried catching the branches and roots marbling the walls in his fall. But they either broke or bent at his passage.  
Halfway down the pit, his forehead collided with a knot of roots. His consciousness went out before he hit the bottom.

–

When Hanzo regained consciousness, he felt awfully cold and numb. Hot pain was drilling through his brain, and his vision was blurry; all he could see was a bright circle above him, the rest nothing but undistinguishable shadows. Every sound was muffled as if his ears were underwater, his own breathing included.  
He awkwardly reached for his pounding head; his fingers found an aching lump near his hairline.

A noise reached his ears and he looked back at the circle of light; a blotch of shadow was standing in it, calling. The sound progressively became clearer as the fog lifted off his mind; that was his name being shouted over and over.  
Hanzo blinked until his vision focused; the circle was actually the entrance of the pit, and the shadow was Jesse.  
“Hanzo! Please say somethin’! Anythin’!” The cowboy implored. His face was hard to see in the backlight casted by his hat, but his voice carried a lot of stress and fright.

“Please, do not be so loud.” Hanzo groaned in response. “You will wake the dead at this rate.”  
McCree tilted his hat back, allowing the faint sunlight to irradiate his relieved face. “Thank God, ya’re alive!” He cried out, before adding a hushed “sorry” for his outburst.  
“How long have I been out?” The archer winced. He had not woken up in the real world and the bump on his head was still swelling, so he supposed only a little time.  
“I ain't sure, I didn't count. A few minutes maybe? Ya weren't movin’ so I feared the worst. How are ya feelin’?  
\- My head is killing me, I feel miserable and I am cold.  
\- Sounds jus' like me when I'm hungover somethin' fierce. Can ya move?”

Hanzo tested every single one of the fingers and toes, then his limbs. Outside of his mild concussion, he had no other injuries to declare. “I can. I only have a bump, not a broken spine… However I do not think I will be able to climb out on my own.” He muttered as he looked around.  
The bottom of the pit was much larger than its opening. Outside of the circle of light surrounding Hanzo, the rest of the cavity was drowned in darkness. The visible walls were an amalgam of roots, mud and rocks, and the air was stale.

“Hold on darlin’, I'm comin'.” Jesse replied, before he disappeared from the entrance. All Hanzo could hear was the cowboy stomping about and the sticks snapping under his boots.  
Seconds later, Jesse came back and threw the rope down. The hole was apparently deep, for the lasso stopped more than a meter above the ground.  
“D'ya think ya can hold on to it? I'm gonna pull ya up.  
\- I think I could, but… Wait a second.” Hanzo sat up. Every movement made his head flare up and left him nauseous. “There might be something down here.”

He squinted, trying to get a glimpse of his surroundings. Despite the light coming from the top of the pit, the thick darkness would not unveil the rest of the cavity.  
“Somethin' alive?” Jesse asked, a singular tension in his voice. A faint click coming from above told Hanzo he had his hand on Peacekeeper.  
“It is too dark to see, but I do not think so. I cannot hear a thing. Besides, had I woken up some sleeping beast with my fall, it would not have waited for my awakening to show itself.” Hanzo replied to reassure both the cowboy and himself. “Could you throw me your lighter?”

Jesse not replying right away made Hanzo look up. “McCree?  
\- It's Jesse pardner. An' I heard ya, I'm jus' wonderin' if it ain't better that I come down 'ere. I tied the rope to a thick tree, so we should be fine.  
\- You? Coming down? I thought you hated climbing.  
\- I still do, but I ain't gonna let ya face whatever's down this pit alone. What if it's the den of a giant bug that hates light? Ya're injured an' ya wouldn't have the time to grab yer arrows before it tries to eat yer face.  
\- _Jesse_ , have you ever seen giant bugs in these woods?  
\- Nah, but I'd never seen demon trees either an' we saw one jus' yesterday. So pardon me if I ain't takin' any chances. If there's somethin', I'll gun it down. If there's nothin', then yippee-ki-yay for us. Whatever happens, I'll carry ya back up 'ere. See it as a win-win, a'right?”

Hanzo wanted to tell the cowboy he was being ridiculous, but there was a risk he was right about the bugs, a risk too real to be dismissed. The existence of the demon tree had changed the balance on the probabilities of such things existing in this realm.  
And if standing made Hanzo feel this nauseous, returning to the surface would make things a lot worse to the point he might pass out.  
“Alright.” He retorted as loudly as he could without increasing his headache.

Jesse slowly eased himself on the rope, partially obscuring the ray of light. He relied on the wooden stubs protruding from the walls to make his way down, moving down with a little less unease than he had demonstrated in the past. The climbing of the broken Plate was finally carrying its fruits.

The moment his boots met the ground, McCree turned to face Hanzo and cupped his head. “Lemme look at you. Oh that's a nasty bump ya got there, d'ya feel sleepy?  
\- A little, but the perspective of a giant insect nearby is doing wonders at keeping me awake.” The archer whispered, gently removing Jesse's hands from his face. “Could you please take your lighter out now? This suspense is intolerable.”  
The cowboy obliged, rummaging his pockets until he found the zippo.

The small flame was barely brighter than the dim sunlight, but it did the trick. The darkness of the cavity dissipated at the orange glow, revealing an unexpected display.  
While it was not as dreadful as a colossal centipede, it was barely less ghoulish.

Bones littered the ground; human skeletons were piled up in the cavity, dressed in clothes partially decomposed. Some of them were half-buried in the muddy ground, others surrounded by roots as if the trees had confounded them for fertilizer; it was very telling of how long these corpses had been down there.

“Jesus, what's all this?” McCree asked with a faint voice, raising the lighter higher. “There's got to be… Twenty, maybe thirty o' them. A freakin' mass grave o' some kind.  
\- Visibly, but why is it here, so far away from any unpopulated areas?” Hanzo whispered back.  
As the cowboy was transfixed by this macabre discovery, he carefully approached the closest skeleton.  
Far from him the idea of disrupting a grave, but there was something unconventional about it that ticked him off; the bodies had been stacked on top of each other without any care rather than laid out on a row, and the fact there were no indications at the surface to mark the spot meant this place was not supposed to be found.  
This cavity looked less like a mass grave and more like a dumping ground, except all the bodies had been left here all at once and that had been the last of it.

Slowly pushing aside what remained of a hat with his gloved fingers, the archer exposed the cranium of the skeleton to the flickering light.  
Dead center in the middle of the frontal bone was a hole the size of a fingernail, the edges circular and bordered with fracture lines. As respectfully as he could, the archer tilted the skull; something rattled inside, rolling against the bone.  
“The men that disappeared in your story. I believe we found them.” He announced, resting the head back against the mud. “Unless the trees have learned to wield guns, then their deaths were caused by other men. Perhaps the very survivors that made it back to town.”

The cowboy knelt by his side to take a look at his finding, but he seemed to reach the same conclusion. “Shit, ya might be right.” He whispered, before handing Hanzo the lighter. “Hold this please.”

While the archer held the zippo, Jesse reached down and seized the skull. “Sorry pal.” He muttered, before he detached it from the spine and shook it to get the bullet out. Hanzo winced, but refrained from making any comments.  
He had desecrated dead bodies in the past; he had removed or planted evidences on them, left messages in ways sometimes too gruesome to be described, or simply destroyed them beyond recognition or DNA identification; he was absolutely not in position to judge or admonish the cowboy for his handling the skull.

The bullet eventually fell from the foramen ovale, dropping in Jesse's prosthetic hand with a chilling clink. The cowboy picked it up and brought it closer to the flames, his eyes scrutinizing it thoroughly. “It's a bit damaged, but I think it's a .44 Henry.” He told Hanzo, who just stared back without a sound. “It's ammo for Winchester rifles. Sadly too common to spot the culprits out. What I'd need to do is find out who went to this expedition an' who came back. But I can't investigate 'cause I'm back to being a fuckin' criminal.” He added bitterly, squeezing the bullet in his hand. “Once our quest is over, I'll go back to town, clear my name an' then hunt these fuckers down. It's been a while, but the folks here probably had relatives or friends who are still waitin' for answers. An’ even if they were poor lonely sods who had nobody, I’ll bring their killers to justice.”

The archer casted another look around, discreetly swallowing. How many people exactly had he torn from their families, their friends, their loved ones?  
He could not remember, but he knew this grave was not big enough to contain them all.

[… To return to the surface, Jesse did the climbing while carrying me piggyback. I was awfully unsure about it, considering the fact that we have used the rope often against rugged surfaces. I feared it would not hold both our weights.  
Yet it did, and the cowboy sure is much stronger than I thought. I did help the best I could to be less of a deadweight, but he never protested once…]

When they reached the top of the pit, Hanzo released Jesse and held onto the edge while the cowboy pulled himself out. The nausea had returned with full force, and he wished he had no head or stomach in this instance.  
“Didn’t know Dragons could fall.” Jesse joked as he helped the archer onto the firm ground.  
“Even monkeys fall from trees.” The 'dragon' cringed, chastising himself for associating his character to a flying creature when his first dream had literally started with him falling from the sky.

He tried to stand up, only to kneel over as the blood rushed to his head.  
Jesse immediately rushed to his side. “Hey, y'okay there? How many fingers am I holdin’ up?” He asked, waving his metallic hand before Hanzo’s face.  
“Is that really necessary?” The archer groaned in annoyance, too dizzy to slap away the insisting hand. “Fine. Three.” He sighed.

The cowboy’s face fell. “Honey-I mean, Hanzo, that ain't good. I’m holdin’ four fingers up. Do ya have a black spot on yer eyes? Do ya see double or somethin'?”

This time, Hanzo did shove the hand away from his face. “I can see you as clear as day and you only have three fingers propped up.” He retorted over the cowboy's panicked chatter.  
“I ain't a doctor, I wouldn't know what to do if yer brain's drownin' in yer own-wait, three?” Jesse looked at his hand in confusion; index, middle finger and pinky were all raised, but the ring finger was folded against his palm.

“Aw hell, my arm’s actin’ up.” He sighed heavily, a hint of relief transpiring along the annoyance in his tone. “Happens sometimes with the humidity. Give me a sec' please.”  
Hanzo silently watched the cowboy roll up his plaid sleeve over his biceps, revealing the connection between metal and flesh. The prosthetic limb was held in place by several clips, with a leather harness securing the whole mechanism.

Jesse propped the arm against his knees, then he proceeded into detaching it. Once his stump was exposed, Hanzo could not help but observe with renewed attention.  
Scars of different sizes and shapes littered the man's elbow, disposed in a most peculiar pattern. The biggest ones were large cuts randomly arranged, as if someone had hacked through Jesse's arm. The others were much smaller and neater, almost invisible on the tanned skin.  
What had happened to the man’s arm? A botched amputation followed by the intervention of a skilled surgeon?

Hanzo was awfully curious. This was a rather important feature of the cowboy, not knowing the origin behind it was maddening.  
Moreover, the prosthetic arm looked a bit too modern. Before the discovery that this world had more to it than just a Macaroni Western, the writer had believed the dream to be set in the 19th Century. It made the limb capable of motion seem anachronistic.

“May I ask what happened to you?” He finally asked as Jesse inspected the clips. He had thought about holding his tongue, in worry he might offend his partner.  
But when the cowboy briefly looked up, he saw no anger in the amber eyes. “Ya may, but I gotta warn ya that I tell a different story every time someone asks me that question. Even if it's the same person askin' me twice.” He hummed while tweaking the connectors. “Do ya still wanna know?  
\- Amuse me.  
\- So I got drunk off my ass an' got a li'l too close to Sioux ground. I posed no threat, but I was singin' pretty loudly in the middle o' the night an' no one likes that. They got so fed up they threw an axe at me to shut me up. Rather than dodgin', I raised my arm to shield my pretty face.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. Since he had been warned, he knew the story had to be a lie. But it also sounded quite plausible knowing McCree.  
“There are Natives here?” He inquired, both to change the subject and learn more about the lore of this land.  
“Yep! A few tribes, mostly located in the canyons an’ the Outback. We didn’t see any ‘cause we stayed away from them. They don’t fancy strangers stumblin’ on their territories much an’ I respect their wishes not to be disturbed. They've got enough to worry about.”

The moment Jesse re-attached his arm, his face contorted and he bit back a pained groan. Hanzo reached out hesitantly, but the cowboy smiled reassuringly. “I'm fine. Puttin' it back triggers every single nerves an' it kinda resurrects the phantom pain.” He explained, wiping the sweat from his brows. “Never gets easier, but I'll be fine.”

After rotating his arm around and wiggling each finger, Jesse held his hand up once more. “How many am I holdin’ up this time? No cheatin’.” He winked at Hanzo.  
The archer repressed a small chuckle. “Four.  
\- Lucky shot, but I'll let it slide. Let's get ya back on yer feet.”

McCree stood first, then took Hanzo by the hands and pulled him up. The archer thought he was going to be fine, but he had to sit back down almost immediately as another dizzy spell hit him. “My head is still spinning.” He winced, holding his forehead while Jesse crouched by his side. “I apologize for delaying us-  
\- Don’t worry, I’ll carry ya.” The cowboy cut, patting his shoulder.

Before he could say a word, Jesse had hooked one arm under his knees and the other around his back. Then he raised the archer off the ground and wedged him against his chest like a bride.  
All Hanzo did was letting out an exclamation of surprise and wrapping his arms around the cowboy’s neck out of reflex. He had never been prone of heights in his life, but the vertigo toying with his inner ear had different plans for him.  
He threw a glare at Jesse, who was grinning ear to ear. “Comfy?” He asked teasingly.  
The archer made an unintelligible noise in response.  
“I’ll take that as a yes.” McCree hummed, while his precious luggage hid his blushing face against his shoulder.

The cowboy then started walking. Each step should have made Hanzo's head pound, but he found that McCree's serape was cozy enough to dull the vibrations. “Am I not too heavy for you?” He muttered, still wishing the earth could swallow him whole. “You must be tired after climbing back out of the pit.  
\- Naw Han’, ya’re fine really. I had to bring Sis to a doctor once, ya feel pretty light in comparison. An' I'll always be up to carry ya 'round whenever ya need it.” Jesse chuckled softly. “Jus’ try to stay awake yeah? An' if ya do fall asleep, don't drift too far.”

[… And thus Jesse carried me in his arms across the woods while singing his heart out. When he is not smoking, he certainly has a knack for song.  
Thankfully I fell asleep at some point, for I was incredibly embarrassed. No one has ever hauled me around, and I would have certainly not allowed it if I did not trust Jesse the way I do now.  
I must admit, he has very comfortable arms, even though one of them is made of metal. I actually felt safe in them.  
Not that I would ever tell him such a thing, for it would be highly inappropriate. But it certainly eased me into sleep with a surprising facility.

I only remember bribes of the songs he hummed, mostly the beginning of the last one he sang before I passed out:

“One evenin’ as the sun went down an’ the jungle fire was burnin’, down the track came a hobo hikin’, and he said “boys, I'm not turnin’; I'm headed for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains. So come with me, we'll go an’ see the Big Rock Candy Mountains. In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, there's a land that's fair and bright, where…”

The rest I cannot recall well. Perhaps I was already out at this verse. It was either about food, alcohol, or both.  
I do remember hearing about a “lake of stew” and thinking it has to be the most unhygienic way to store perishable goods.”

 

**\- Wednesday night**

“I must have slept at least for a few hours in Jesse's arms, because he was taking a break when I woke up…]

When Hanzo rose from his slumber, he was sitting on Jesse's lap.  
The cowboy was holding him against his chest with one arm, while he held a cigar in his free hand. A pungent smell of rotten eggs, vegetation and mud was overpowering, to the point the nicotine fumes McCree exhaled away from his face would have been more pleasant.

“Where are we? Is something the matter?” He groaned, awkwardly extricating himself from McCree's arms and standing up with the grace and agility of a foal.  
“Nothin’ bad Hanzo, I jus’ needed a li'l rest. An' we're still in the forest, ya didn't miss out on anythin'.” Jesse replied, getting back on his feet to assist the archer.  
“Thank you for carrying me. I am sorry I fell asleep.” He sighed, managing to stabilize his balance with the man's help.  
“It's fine Han'. I did worry ya were worse off than I thought when ya passed out, but yer breathin' an' heartbeat were still goin' so I didn't freak out. How are ya feelin' now?”  
Hanzo evaluated the state of his forehead; his head still throbbed a bit, but the bump had noticeably decreased. Outside of a noticeable tear in his sleeve, he was perfectly fine.  
“My head is much better now, but I cannot say the same for my nose. What is this horrid smell?  
\- _That_.” McCree pointed at something behind Hanzo.

The archer turned and barely refrained from gagging.  
There was a vast swamp in the way. The green, sludgy waters were covered with water lenses and lily pads, on which brown and green frogs croaked abundantly. A few trees had grown within the slough, thin and crooked compared to the larger ones bordering the swamp. The smell clearly originated from the putrefaction of the stagnating waters and the dead vegetation drenching in it.

“I wasn’t too keen on crossin’ it with ya unconscious, ‘cause I’ve never crossed it on foot in the first place. I usually have Sis with me by now, but I guess the earthquake an’ the fire coulda slowed her down.  
\- Your horse?” Hanzo frowned in confusion. “But I thought this place was unreachable for her.  
\- Well certainly not through the path we took, that she could never cross. But she always gets here eventually, she’s a real competent gal. Now stop makin’ that face or it’ll stay stuck that way.”  
The archer was not entirely sure that was remotely possible, but he was not going to waste time and effort arguing on a horse capable of hiking. “If you say so… Perhaps we should circumvent the swamp then. After yesterday’s surprise pitfall, I honestly do not wish to take chances with this hostile place.  
\- I can only agree with ya pardner.”

[… We were carefully following the shore of the swamp when the wind picked up. We did not think much of it, until a surprisingly strong gust hit us in the face. It could have been a mild inconvenience, had it not swept Jesse’s hat away.  
The Stetson flew, carried by the squall until it died down. Then it landed further away… right in the middle of the swamp…]

Both men exchanged a glare, Jesse openly distressed and Hanzo incredulous. After all the mishaps they had suffered until now, this had to be incidental somehow.

The archer slowly inhaled, eyes locked onto the hat while the cowboy timidly spoke up. “Darlin’, before ya say anythin’-  
\- No.” Hanzo categorically cut. He did not need to hear the rest of McCree’s sentence to guess what he was about to do. “You are not going to risk your life for an accessory.” He said with a little more venom than he meant.  
Jesse unfortunately picked up on it. “Hey now pal, that hat ain't jus' an _accessory_ , it’s real important to me. There’s no way I’m leavin’ without it.  
\- And there is no way I am letting you risk your life over a tacky piece of clothing.  
\- Ah! An’ how are ya plannin’ on stoppin’ me?” Jesse retorted, approaching the swamp.  
“I could pin your serape to a tree with an arrow and tie you up with the rope.” Hanzo retorted.  
“Bah, ya would have the guts to do it.  
\- You really think so?” Before the cowboy could reply, the archer stole the coiled lasso from the cowboy's shoulder and threateningly scowled. “If you believe I would be too squeamish to do so, then let me assure you that I would dare if it keeps you from recklessly risking your life.”  
A wolfish grin and a glare of an equal intensity met his ire. “Wow darlin' that's kinky. We didn't even have our first date.” McCree sneered. “Didn't think a prude li'l flower like ya would like his cowman tied up, but that's fine. I'm yer huckleberry.”

They looked daggers at each other, Hanzo's hand clenching around the rope so tightly it made a creaking sound. He wanted to punch McCree in the face for this insult, even though it was not the worst thing that had even been said about him, and he did not doubt the man wanted to hit him for insulting his precious hat.

However both of them had to blink at some point, and the archer quickly realized they had hit a wall. Animosity was not going to get them anywhere, and he was not going to jeopardize the entire journey over this.  
Jesse seemed to realize the same thing, for he let his shoulders slump and exhaled loudly. “Look. If it were that pretty ribbon ya sport in yer hair floatin’ over there, wouldn’t ya want to get it back?”  
Hanzo bit his bottom lip before he could try to deny it. He actually would, for he treasured this peculiar hair tie. It was a gift and a memory he would never part from.  
“It would be highly unreasonable of me to risk my life over it.” He muttered, gazing at the hat.  
“Granted. But would ya?  
\- … Yes.  
\- Well I would do the same for my hat. It has a high sentimental value to me, an' I'd be damned if I leave it here, even if it'd make our followers think we drowned in there. So I’m gonna go get it while ya stay here an' look pretty, a'right? Besides a hatless cowboy ain't one, is he?” He added with a half-hearted wink.

Hanzo crossed his arms dejectedly, watching Jesse like a hawk as he set a foot in the swamp. “I still think you should not walk in there.” He muttered, unwilling to let the cowboy have the last word.  
“Hanzo, ya're gonna get more white hair if ya worry 'bout nothin'. It ain't very deep, I know how to swim, an' the mud ain't gonna bite me on the way.  
\- This is a _swamp_. What if-what if there are crocodiles in there?  
\- Never seen any ever, an' it's way too cold for them.  
\- What about giant snakes? We have seen one before, what makes it impossible that an anaconda lives in these waters?  
\- The one critter that attacked ya ain’t aquatic darlin', they're either onshore or they hang out in the trees. Besides there ain’t nothin’ to eat but bugs, anacondas would need much larger preys than that in order to survive.  
\- Very comforting. But I warn you, if you make it out of here unharmed, you will stay far away from me. This stench is just awful.” Hanzo spat, while he kept a vigilant eye on the waters.

The only living beings in the vicinity turned out to be just the frogs and the flies they occasionally caught. McCree made his way without a hitch to his hat, scooping it out of the water and placing it back on his head with a triumphant grin.  
“Told ya nothin' bad would happen!” He boasted, throwing a smug glance at Hanzo.  
“If you do not count being drenched in this putrid muck as a bad thing, then I suppose so.” The archer quipped sullenly.

[… I was actually thinking about apologizing to Jesse at this point. I had spoken out of concern earlier, but I should have done so differently and searched for a more practical solution to get his Stetson back instead of lashing out. It is not his fault that the wind blew, and he certainly cares for his hat because of me since I created him.  
Not to mention I was still feeling queasy and agitated, and I still have the poor tendency of 'busting my lid' easily in his presence.  
But then we found out that the muddy floor was a death trap and I felt like I could punch him once more…]

Hanzo did not worry when Jesse nearly tripped, thinking he had simply misstepped. However he did when the cowboy practically fell. He had not been this clumsy on the way in, why was he struggling coming out?  
“Are you alright Jesse?” He inquired, stepping closer to the edge while the cowboy awkwardly stood, coughing and wiping off the sludge staining his face.  
But McCree raised a hand up and shouted, making him freeze on the spot. “Stop right where ya are! Don’tcha go in there!  
\- I have absolutely no intention of setting a foot in this miasma! What is the matter?  
\- Well… Please don't be mad at me.” Jesse chuckled weakly. “Remember when I said the mud wouldn't bite? Well I jus' found out that the bottom’s quicksand. I’m knee-deep into it an’ I can’t get out.”

Hanzo did a double-take on the cowboy, then he slowly rubbed his eyebrows. For what he assumed was the billionth time since they had set a foot in these woods, he felt terribly frustrated. “Did you know about these?” He articulated while trying to stay calm.   
“Heck no Han', I swear that never happened before!” Jesse raised his hands apologetically, accidentally splashing more murky water on his face. “Maybe the earthquakes made the soil unstable? I don't really know, I ain't a geologist. It doesn't matter, we don’t have the time for this! I’m still sinkin’ an’ the water level's high enough to drown me before the mud's done gobblin' me up!”

The archer repressed a scream and quickly evaluated his surroundings. He would shout at Jesse later, his main priority being saving his imbecilic butt-boots, he meant boots-from the swamp.

There were lots of branches hanging above the waters, but they looked anything but sturdy. Hanzo doubted they would support his weight and even less both his and McCree's.  
His eyes fell down and he realized that he was still holding onto the coiled rope, his palm red from having squeezed it too tightly.

Cursing himself for not realizing it sooner, Hanzo quickly unwound it and threw one end at Jesse. “Catch!” He shouted.  
The end of the lasso flopped onto a lily pad, a bit off from his intended target, but it was still in McCree's reach. The cowboy immediately hurled the top of his body forward in order to reach it, going as far as winding all the extra length around his arm once he had a good grip.  
“It’s my turn to pull you out of your misery. Hold on!” The archer muttered under his breath, before he pulled as hard as he could.

Each heartbeat made his head pound, but he ignored it. He dug his heels in the ground, mobilizing his entire strength into bringing the cowboy back to safely.  
Yet, despite his best efforts, the mud would not release McCree. The cowboy was still inexorably sinking, his head getting dangerously close to the water level. The muddy ground was slowly giving away under Hanzo's feet and the skin of his hands burned.  
Nonetheless he maintained his efforts, mind set on getting Jesse out of this mess.

Then the lasso abruptly snapped at mid-length, Hanzo falling against the ground with a piece of the rope and Jesse yelping in disarray as he nearly toppled over.  
By the time the archer got back on his feet, the cowboy’s nose was almost underwater. Their eyes met, and a breathy 'no' escaped the archer's mouth.

[… I had worried just yesterday about the rope failing us, and it chose this precise moment to do so after everything we put it through.  
I was so bewildered, lost and… _aghast_. I did not know what else to do.  
Then, for a brief second, I was ready to throw myself in the water, swim my way to Jesse and try to dig him out of the mud with my bare hands.

I will never know if this foolish plan would have worked.

For that was at this moment that Sis arrived, like a golden hair on the mud soup. I had not heard her approach, panic clogging my ears with my own heartbeat.  
While I have absolutely no idea how she managed to make her way through the woods and the ravine, I was simply far too happy to see her to question her presence.

We had experienced the law of the series with our recurrent misfortunes, but Sis’s arrival met the terms of a miracle.

Since the rope was now too short, I had to forego my prudishness and use my Obi to add some length. After combining it with the lasso, it was just the right length to reach McCree.  
What I had to do next was tying one end to Sis’s reins. That bit was a little difficult, for the mane was reluctant to let me approach her, even though we have travelled together for several days.  
Among the phrases Jesse had taught me, I did not have anything remotely close to 'let me approach you', 'your master is drowning' or 'I will turn you into canned meat if you try to bite me one more time'. Insulting her came to mind, but it would have been extremely rude and unhelpful.

All Jesse could do in his current predicament was signing, but his flailing captivated the horse long enough for me to fiddle with her reins and tightly knot the Obi to them.  
The moment I ordered Sis to move back in Spanish, she actually stopped trying to kick me and obeyed.

With our combined efforts, we extricated McCree out of the swamp. He was unharmed, although he came out covered in mud and smelling strongly of spoiled seafood and rotten eggs.  
The moment he was out, he openly expressed his joy to see his trusty steed, kissing her head and highly praising her for reaching us on time.  
Although I preferred to stand aside, still a little weary of the mare and eager to close my Gi, it was a heart-warming display.

For the rest of the day, McCree had to walk around in mud-caked clothes, since Sis did not want him to stain her coat. I took the front lead with her while Jesse dragged behind. Horse smell is far less unpleasant than swamp stench, and she seemed to share my opinion on the matter.  
I did not ride the horse of course, I walked by her side; it would have been unfair for McCree, and I was unsure I could sit on the saddle alone without falling to my death.

Another episode of downpour before the evening was an opportunity in disguise for us. Until Jesse McCree, I have never seen anyone so giddy about rain that they would go as far as dancing a gig.  
While the cowboy let the heavy rain rinse him off, I stayed under a large tree, watching from afar while trying to conceal my amusement. I did worry once more about his having stepped into an exploding mushroom, but I think I would have definitely heard it if he had.

Since the rain would not let up, we decided to set the camp right where we had stopped and sleep under the tree I was using for shelter. I let Jesse use the blanket he lent me in the first place, for he used his own to dry himself up. With the ground relatively dry beneath the tree, I was not too uncomfortable.

Still he insisted that we shared it, and I must admit I surrendered. The night was awfully cold after the rain, and neither one of us wanted to try lightening a fire after the attack of Jubokko. It was, to quote Jesse, “too soon”.

I woke up in my bed feeling just as cold, for I have turned the heater off and the insolation of my windows is inexistent. Yet a heat lingered in my side, the same that had been in contact with Jesse's.  
Perhaps I should try sleeping wearing a coat, maybe it will show up in my dreams.

In the end, I did not yell at him for nearly dying. He has had quite a fright too back then, and he immediately apologized to me before I could say a word.  
He was sorry about calling me 'prude' and 'little' (flower was left out of the equation; he meant it as a compliment because he has “never seen one that wasn't pretty”), and all the more regretful that this stupid fight would have been the last exchange we had before he died.

I also apologized for having reacted the way I did, and told him I would have gone into the water if Sis had not showed up. He looked at me so strangely that, for a moment, I thought he might kiss me on the spot.  
But all he did was hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat and thanking me for saving his life. I could have sworn his ears were red, but it might have been a skin reaction to the sludge.  
I would be lying if I said I did not feel an iota of disappointment, and I firmly believe I have lost a part of my sanity in these woods to be feeling let down because Jesse McCree did not kiss me. This was a ludicrous thought, probably due to tiredness.

I do wonder what makes the Stetson so precious in Jesse's eyes. Is it a gift from someone dear to him? A relic of the past, which I have yet to discover? Or does he just love it that much? To be fair it suits him so well that seeing him hatless seemed odd.

Perhaps he cares for his hat for the exact same reason I care for my hair tie.”


	25. Time Passes By pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time usually passes by in two chapters, and the second one is the longest ( ᐛ
> 
> Disclaimer: lots of singing, but still not a song fic I swear (˃̵ヮ˂̵)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all? Happy Halloween month ٩ʕ◉ᴥ◉❀ʔ۶
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments and the kudos! I know I always say that at each chapter, but it matters a lot to me! Also welcome to the newcomers, hope you did not stumble on this at 2AM and read it all (˃̵ヮ˂̵) ya need your sleep!
> 
>  
> 
> [Anyways, here are the doodles I made for the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/166190384191/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-ghosted-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy and have a good time (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)

**– Thursday night**

“Nothing peculiarly exciting happened today. I am not complaining though, Jesse and I were both in a serious need of a breather.

Now that the cowboy was “squeaky clean”, we were able to continue our trip on horseback. My legs started cramping up within an hour of riding, but I still prefer this to walking on foot by a large margin; at least I can sit back and observe the environment instead of constantly watching out for pits and mushrooms.

Past the swamp, the forest is remarkably different. There is actual sunlight pouring in through the leaves, as the trees are more spaced out and the foliage less dense. The eeriness, obscurity and dampness we have known since we stepped in are now subdued, as if we have entered a completely separate place. This significantly different ambiance might be a sign that, supposing the forest is my state of mind, I am getting better.  
The ground is a little more practicable and stable. Less trees have collapsed during the earthquakes, allowing us to get around without too many difficulties.  
The parasite plants are still plentiful and the usual wildlife one should find in a forest remains notably absent, but we have seen far many less mushrooms and the few crawlers we met on the way were harmless. I still remain on guard in case another giant snake tries to sneak up on me.

For the first time since we stepped in these woods, I am enjoying myself. I had forgotten the pleasant feeling of filtered sun rays caressing the skin in a cool environment, the beauty of all these shapes and shades of green cohabiting together, and this peace, this silence… I finally understand why McCree called this place the Forest of Tranquility…]

They were crossing a clearing of burgeoning kudzu when Jesse finally spoke.  
Until now he had been either humming to himself or sneaking glances at Hanzo, who had taken the opportunity of this calm ride to study the map. The archer had ignored him at first, then he had eventually stared back at the cowboy, acknowledging him with a small nod while being a little puzzled by the man’s behavior.

The sudden chatter efficiently tore Hanzo from his contemplation.  
“Once we’ll have reached the end of the woods, we’ll stride along the border of the chain till we find the entrance of the mine. Then we’ll have to split up again, ‘cause that mine sure as hell ain’t a place for horses.” Jesse said with a hint of sadness as he petted Sis’s neck affectionately. “Sorry girl, this ain’t a horse-friendly treasure hunt. But I swear I’ll buy ya some good veggies for compensations once this thing's over.”

The horse huffed dismissively in response, swatting her tail across her rump and narrowly missing Hanzo's back.  
The archer discreetly sighed. The mare had nagged him ever since he had tricked her into helping him at the swamp. But they were only petty provocations from an animal; he would not stoop to the level of a child and retaliate back.  
Not to mention McCree would surely get upset if he did as much as pinching her.

“The mine truly is the shortest way through the mountains?” He asked while he looked down at the map. Having nothing to note down the missing details, like the abandoned ranch or the swamp, was a little frustrating. At least the ravine had been properly indicated by a sinuous streak cutting through the woods.  
“Yep. ‘S also the way with the best chance o’ survival. These goddamn mountains are like a few thousand foot, makes the broken Plate look like cat piss in comparison. Goin’ up there’s real risky, an’ I ain’t sayin’ that ‘cause of all the climbin’.” Jesse groaned, chewing on an unlit cigar. Hanzo tilted his head up and listened carefully.  
“The weather’s really tough up here. Beyond a certain height, it’s constantly freezing. The snow makes it really hard to move around an’ the smallest storms can be lethal. I tried borrowin’ a rather okay-lookin’ path to explore them peaks, but had to retreat when the air got awfully thin an’ the cold worse. I was lucky not to lose any more fingers on that day, or my life for that matter… Short story for a long tale, ya don't wanna go up 'ere. I am into shortcuts, _safe_ shortcuts. The way ‘round the broken Plate’s the exception to the rule ‘cause I sure as hell wouldn’t have made it up ‘ere without the help of a great climber,” he added as the archer was about to retort.

Hanzo looked back down at the map. If the distance and the relief pattern were represented accurately, going under the mountain chain should be a lot faster than climbing it. “I believe you. The little I have seen of it from the top of the tree was telling of how difficult it would be to hike without proper gear or preparation. However, I did notice you said “best chance of survival”. Are you implying that the mine is also dangerous?  
\- Well, to be completely honest with ya, it is actually _super_ dangerous. It's a maze with more pits an' falls than the forest an' it's habited, sort of. If ya take the shortcut though, it’s jus' a more or less straight line with no harm on the way. Basically a walk in a dank dark park, so all ya’d need is a good ol’ lantern an’ ya’re all set. The long way however? Don't even think 'bout it.”

The cowboy's grim face aroused Hanzo's curiosity. “What do you mean-  
\- Nah nah nah, I said don’t even think ‘bout it! That implies ya shouldn't ask either,” Jesse hastily cut, shushing the archer by planting a finger over his lips. “Ain’t gonna let ya rope me into facin’ fears or somethin’ like that, cause this ain’t a fear that should be faced Hanzo. There's stuff in this mine ya don’t wanna know about okay? I was wrong ‘bout the broken Plate an’ we managed to pull that off together fine, but take my word for the mine. Capiche?”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the rebuttal. This reaction only amplified his desire to find out more regarding the “stuff” Jesse mentioned.  
But he also knew better than pulling the agitated cowboy into a fight, thus he decided to ease tensions. “You are being very obtuse about this, but I will buy it.” He sighed after pushing the cowboy's hand away. “What about your horse? Where will she go?  
\- She’ll go round the mountain, jus’ like she did for the Broken Plate.  
\- I am still surprised by how well she does on her own.” The archer replied nonchalantly, while frowning at the cowboy’s neck. There was something mysterious about how proficient Sis was.

Feeling his staring, Jesse turned around and winked at him. “Told ya, she’s a real competent gal.”  
Hanzo squinted at the cowboy, unconvinced. Yet he did not insist; this was a dream after all, a willing suspension of disbelief was necessary to deal with the encountered strangeness and potential inconstancies.  
Like a horse ex machina.

[… I do wonder what this mine has that makes McCree so upset. The cowboy was far more nonchalant about the woods and we encountered bandits, pitfalls and a demon tree. Although to be fair, he was unaware of that last one being a real threat.  
I wanted to keep asking, but held my tongue in the face of Jesse’s grimness. I have a feeling it is a subject too painful to approach or elaborate furthermore on, and I know better than riling a valuable ally by pressing onto an old wound.  
Moreover I would be the biggest fool of all to turn my nose up at a safe shortcut for the sake of inquisitiveness. Some dangers are best left unknown, and it is hardly appropriate to ask for more excitement when we are being hunted down by law enforcers and an assassin.

After this conversation, the cowboy spent most of his time singing country songs. I let him do as he pleased against my better judgment, to make up for prying earlier and allow him to lighten up the mood in his own noisy way.

One of his songs did catch my attention, so much so that I accidentally listened to it from beginning to end. Not because of how catchy it was (it was not, I still despise country and will never find it catchy).  
“Keep On The Sunny Side” it is called; it is about remaining optimistic in the face of ‘darkness and strife’. It felt addressed to me, for pessimism is a trait of mine, dangerously hand in hand with realism. Optimism was always Genji’s thing.  
I cannot say Jesse sang this peculiar song on purpose, since most of the others were either about how wonderful love is or how bad heartbreaks are.

In the end, while I have been unable to keep on the sunny side of life so far, I feel I have started to switch views with this adventure. Surely I should try to apply that philosophy to real life, but it is difficult and complicated.

Somehow Jesse must have mistaken my silence regarding his singing for complete acceptance, because he tried to rope me into singing with him later on. That is simply beyond me; I have never sung in my life, or at least never again after that one time Genji dragged me to a karaoke restaurant. It was a most humiliating experience that copious amounts of saké could not erase from my memory, thankfully sans witnesses other than my equally inebriated brother.  
Therefore it is needless to say that the cowboy's request was met with great resistance…]

“Hey Hanzo? How come I've never heard ya sing?” McCree asked out of the blue. He had just finished singing about a cheater constantly cheating his way in and out of prison because of his undying crush on the judge.  
Hanzo did a double take before he answered, baffled that the cowboy would ask that of all things. “Because you are the only one who sings and enjoys it.” He said half-heartedly. “When I am not tuning out the things that scorch my ears, I prefer listening.”

He had hoped the dry answer would suffice, but it did not. Jesse turned his head, a wry smile stretching his chapped lips. “I sure enjoy singin’, even though I ain’t always good at it. Still I wonder what yer singin' voice sounds like. Yer usual one’s already quite pleasant to the ears, even when ya’re basically shoutin’ at me.  
\- McCree-” He was silenced by the cowboy waving his index before his face.  
“Tut tut, first name basis now.” Jesse hummed teasingly, withdrawing his hand before Hanzo could slap it away again.

The archer took a few seconds to silently inhale and exhale, resisting the urge of pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _Jesse_ , I am not going to sing simply because you wish me to.  
\- What? Oh c'mon Han'. I sang at yer demand back in jail.  
\- Yes you did. But was freeing us out of prison by threatening the Sheriff into compliance not enough of a repayment for that service?  
\- Well I’m real grateful. But it ain't the same thing.  
\- Jesse, you do not want me singing. I would make your ears bleed, mark my words. A single note and you will have no tympanums to hear the rest of it.  
\- Ya make it sound like ya're Banshee. Jus' chill an' lemme be the judge o' that yeah? Besides, I ain't the best singer around.  
\- Well believe me when I say you are a far better one than I will ever be. Oh and one more thing; I do not know any songs.”

Jesse stared back at him with wide eyes. “Really? None? Not even a tiny one?” The cowboy looked all the more bewildered when Hanzo shook his head, then he quickly cracked a smile. “Well I'll jus’ teach ya some o' my repertoire. We could sing along like that, it'd be fun!  
\- Your repertoire is nothing but country songs. It would be anything but fun for me.  
\- C’me on, who’d ya think I am? I’ve got like… Twenty, no, thirty percent content that ain’t country. Tops.” McCree admitted sheepishly after counting on his fingers.

Hanzo barely refrained from scoffing. “And what does this percentage consists in?  
\- Uhm, let's see. Blues, bluegrass, a few ballads, a couple Native chants too, some lullabies an' a few religious chants. Includin' gospel.” McCree listed while he fetched a cigar from his pockets.  
“Religious chants?” Hanzo winced. “I would rather not hear anything God-related if that is alright by you. It can be a little irksome for non-believers.  
\- Now that ya mention it, do dragons even have a religion? Not that it’s a bad thing, I’m jus’ askin'.” The cowboy tilted his head, before he tucked the cigar between his teeth.

Hanzo looked aside as if searching for his words, while he was actually trying to come up with a credible answer to fit his character. He would have to anticipate these questions in the future, or risk taking an awkward pause every time Jesse expressed his curiosity.  
“How can I explain this… We do believe in Dragons since we are their descendants, along with other beings that are either deities or malevolent creatures.” He replied cautiously. “Personally, I am a traditionalist. I adhered to beliefs and practices back when I was young, but now I only carry out certain rituals out of habit rather than belief.  
Of course I could stop altogether from doing any of these practices, but I was educated that way and it is hard to stop doing something I was dictated to do so early in life.”

The cowboy looked thoughtful and, to Hanzo's surprise, concerned. “Any o' these practices involve weird rituals or self-harmin'? Don't get me wrong, I'm aware that's pretty heavy an' prejudiced to ask that. But I know plenty 'bout penance an' how it can be pretty extreme in some cases…”  
The archer was perplexed, until he understood what McCree meant. “I do no such things.” He blurted, before adopting a softer tone. “Our dogma does involve facing hardships to strengthen the soul, like sitting beneath a waterfall, but I have never gone that far. My life is challenging enough as it is, I needn't make it worse. All I do nowadays is light incense and recite a few prayers really, nothing so dreadful.”

The cowboy's face comically relaxed. “Good to know pardner. Sorry 'bout that, my mind went a li'l ahead o' me.” Jesse chuckled, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “I'm jus' worried 'bout ya, makes me silly an' all.”  
The audible relief spurred a bit of warmth in Hanzo's chest. “Why is that? Did I do anything to rouse your concern?  
\- Nah, not at all. I-I jus' like ya, a'right? I couldn't bear the thought o' ya hurtin' yerself.” McCree added with a low voice.  
The bit of warmth amplified into something closer to a small inferno and Hanzo had to look away, pretending to be fascinated by the small shrubbery pushing through a cracked oak stump.

Whether he had noticed the archer's reaction or not, Jesse went on. “Ya know, I get whatcha mean 'bout bein' less of a believer an' doin' things outta habit. I used to be a strong believer as a kid myself. Now I only step in churches to light a candle for my ma, an' that's about it. Heck she's the only reason I still know religious chants. She taught ‘em to me, so singing ‘em is my way of commemoratin' her. Lost most o’ my faith on the way, but these songs helped me salvage the li’l bit left in me.”

Hanzo turned to face Jesse, but the cowboy was looking ahead. There was a small strain in the line of his strong shoulders, as if he was refraining from letting them slump.  
It suddenly hit him that they had this in common; a deceased mother who had made a mark on her son's mind. Long gone, yet still present like a passing ghost.  
The more Hanzo knew Jesse, the more he realized they were alike in spite of their opposed personalities.  
“By all means then, never refrain from singing your chants.” The archer said softly as he delicately folded the map with slow, precise gestures. “I may not appreciate them at their right worth, but far from me the wish to deprive you of something so dear to you.”

There was a short silence during which Hanzo had the time to put the map away, then Jesse shifted on the saddle to face him. “S’ alright pardner. I know my singin' can get a li’l annoyin’ at times,” the cowboy said with a hint of humor, “but I really appreciate yer understandin'. Thank ya.”  
When Hanzo dared look up, all he saw was the cowboy's wide grin. His heart fluttered inexplicably and he almost missed McCree's following statement:  
“Tell ya what, you’ll sing when you’ll want to, makes no sense tryin’ to force yer hand. But I'm feelin' generous an' I wanna do somethin' for ya, so I’ll teach ya some more Mexican Spanish instead. Would ya like that?”

Stubborn as a bull, yet capable of being reasonable. That should have been the cowboy's middle name.  
“I did speak that language a bit in the past. Unfortunately years of disuse caused me to forget the little I had acquired.” Hanzo confessed. It had mostly served when facing criminal associates of the Clan really, he had not cared to nurture his knowledge.  
“That's a shame but I get ya. Used to speak a li'l Kiowa thanks to Native relatives, but I don't remember a lick of it now. 'S an endangered language, ain't many people talkin' it anymore.  
But Mexican Spanish however? It's everywhere. Heck ya might need it someday! For instance, ya noticed Sis here wouldn’t obey ya unless ya spoke Spanish. It’s good ya memorized ‘step back’ or else I probably woulda died in the swamp.” He petted the horse on the neck and she bumped his hand with her nostrils. “I know she seems like a stubborn mule, but that’s how she was raised an’ she won’t have it otherwise.”

Hanzo did not ponder for long on the question. This could be a subtle attempt to flirt with him or teach him a bunch of nonsense, still he would take it over singing any day. “That could come in handy in dire situations that would require more specific vocabulary, or when I will have gagged you out of hatred for country songs,” he added out of jest. “Will you teach me more Spanish please?  
\- ‘Course I will! I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want to,” Jesse chuckled with a wink. “I still hope I'll hear ya sing one day.”

Hanzo sighed heavily. “That would surely involve an unreasonable quantity of alcohol, and the only outcome would be a disaster. I hope you are aware of that.  
\- A fun disaster, I'm sure.”

[… It turned out that Jesse was not flirting. His teaching was rather serious actually.  
His Southern drawl disappears when he switches languages, but the way he speaks Spanish is not without effect on the spine. I am not sure if the intonations are so pleasant to the ear that they can cause ASMR, or if I have gotten too receptive to the cowboy's voice.

By the end of the day, I knew not only more expressions to lead Sis around, but also more specific orders along with some important bases to understand a Spanish speaker, and an impressive amount of curse words. To quote Jesse, “always comes in handy when ya wanna swear out loud”. Of course I could have pointed out that I have Japanese swearwords for that, but I suppose it adds a string to my bow.

I think Jesse's humor has rubbed off on me, this pun was simply awful…]

As the evening approached, the weather remained merciful; there was neither rain nor thunder, only a few clouds and a soft breeze.  
Once they had chosen a spot to set their camp, Hanzo took the time to fix his Gi. In the light of the sunset, he carefully mended the edges of the tear back together. Luckily for him, the cowboy's sewing kit had many colored strings, among which he had found a midnight blue one that blended almost perfectly with the fabric.

Of course, since the tear was unreachable unless he extricated his arm from the sleeve, he had entirely removed the Gi in order to be more at ease and search for other adjustments to make.  
McCree had been polite enough not to openly stare at his torso, although his ears had turned remarkably red the moment the archer had loosened his Obi. Hanzo had pretended not to notice, the man's reaction definitely amusing him more than it annoyed him. It was hard to imagine the flirty cowboy being flustered after seeing half of his chest several times before.

Eventually Jesse stood up and removed his serape. Hanzo first thought the man was planning on fixing a tear too, when he stepped closer and dropped it over the archer's head.  
“It's gettin' pretty damn chilly, you’ll catch a cold if ya stay like this. Now 'scuse me for a few while I go smoke,” He uttered before stiffly walking off to a moss-covered rock several meters away.  
“Thank you… Be careful,” Hanzo replied, now taken aback. Saying he was perplexed by McCree's behavior was putting it lightly.

The cowboy looked back and waved. “Don't worry, I promise I won't summon Treezilla!”  
With a faint smile, Hanzo adjusted the serape over his shoulders and returned to his work. It was getting cold indeed, and the blanket-like cloth was permeated with body warmth.

–

By the time Jesse returned, the archer had finished fixing his sleeve plus the few holes he had found in the serape. It had been put through a lot lately, and he felt responsible for them; after all, he had been the one who pulled the cowboy in this adventure.  
“You might need to resupply your sewing kit after this journey,” Hanzo said as he handed the serape back to the cowboy, “a couple spare needles and a coil of string, or a ball of wool if it does not take too much room.  
\- Why ya fancy lizard. If the treasure brings us tons o' money, I might buy the whole freakin' shop,” McCree jested. “I actually had some wool, but Sis ate it. I legit thought I had lost it somehow, till I found a string stuck between her teeth… Wait a sec'.” He paused, fingering the scarlet fabric of the cloth. “Did ya do somethin' to my serape? I coulda sworn it was tattier than that before.”

Hanzo looked up, hesitant. Perhaps he should have let the cowboy fix his own cloak instead. What if it had a sentimental value too?  
“There were a few tears, I figured I might as well tend to them while I was at it,” he mumbled back.  
His concern of having crossed boundaries was brushed aside as Jesse whistled in amazement. “Well ya did an amazin' job! Thanks honey.  
\- You are welcome,” the archer hummed, placing the kit back in his quiver.

He noticed the use of the pet name too late to correct Jesse, the moment having passed. The cowboy did not even seem to have noticed his own slip, so he let it slide. Next time however, he would not be so lucky.

–

It was when they were preparing to sleep that Hanzo felt like sharing about himself. It was a fair thing to do after that McCree had opened up earlier, and the silence was a little harder to stomach after an entire day spent listening to the cowboy sing.  
“I am no singer, but I used to be a musician back in my youth,” he said while they were unfolding their blankets.  
Jesse paused in his doings, looking at the archer from underneath his hat. “The more ya know! What kinda instrument?  
\- The yokobue. It is a traverse flute made of bamboo,” he added when Jesse scrunched his eyebrows at the foreign word. “Without undue immodesty, I was quite good at it.  
\- Why did ya stop?”  
Playing the yokobue was another thing his mother had taught him along with Kyūdō. After her passing, he had never touched the instrument again. It was one of the many belongings and memories he had abandoned when fleeing from Hanamura.  
“I lost the motivation to continue,” he whispered regretfully.

Once the two men were lying side by side, wrapped in their respective blankets, Hanzo tried to remember one of the pieces he used to know by heart. Evoking the instrument had reminded him of the first notes, and he could not stop thinking about it. Perhaps he would if he managed to complete the rest of the piece.

He did not realize he had started absently humming until he noticed that Jesse was looking at him, lying on his side with his arm folded beneath his head.  
“Hey don't stop for me, that sounded pretty nice.” The cowboy winked before Hanzo could say a word.  
The archer swallowed back his apologies. “There are lyrics that are supposed to be sung over, but I only remember the melody. Parts of it mostly,” he muttered, turning his gaze to the branches above in order to hide his shame.

Despite being caught, he continued while McCree listened, bundled in his blanket with a dreamy look on his face.  
By the time Hanzo remembered the entire piece, the cowboy had dozed off.

[… He reminds me of a child when he sleeps. Until he starts snoring that is.

McCree has been surprisingly tame with the flirting lately, which is both a relief and an oddity. He had so many opportunities today, and yet he did not take a single one. While he does possess a certain charm in spite of his rough appearance, he remained rather tame. Outside of a few smiles that were a little borderline, but these could be natural. I am not an expert on reading these signs.

Perhaps he is more mindful of my feelings, in which case I am most grateful. When he is not infuriating me with his quirks, I truly appreciate his company.”

 

**– Friday night**

“I woke up to Jesse singing this morning. He was careful not to raise his voice, but the faintest murmur can be heard from miles away in the complete silence of the woods. Moreover I understandably sleep light.  
He sang a lot this week, so it is not much of an outstanding event. But I feel I should consign it still, for this was by far the most pleasant awakening I have ever had in my life. The man may not be an expert, but he has a soothing baritone voice to which his Southern drawl contributes significantly.  
Back in jail I hated it with all my heart, but I was in a rather improper state of mind to enjoy it.

I actually feigned sleep so I could hear the rest of the song. I had never heard this one before, and it did not sound one bit like country…]

When Hanzo finally cracked an eye open to see what Jesse was up to, he found him kneeling next to Sis; the cowboy was scrubbing her legs down from the knee to remove the dry mud caking her coat, while singing as lowly as he could:  
“Jus' a few more weary days an' then I'll fly away… To a land where joys will never end, I'll fly away…”

The archer gradually sat up, careful not to make a sound. McCree was very focused on his task and he had no wish to startle him out of it.  
Sis raised her head as he moved, but did nothing to alert the cowboy that he had an audience. Either she had gotten over her little spite, or she did not care that her cavalier got caught singing when he boisterously did so most of the day.

“I'll fly away, oh glory! I'll fly away in the mornin’. When I die hallelujah by an’ by, I'll fly away in the mornin’…”  
Jesse ended his song on a humble note, then he looked up and met Hanzo's eyes. “Oh,” he said, freezing in place. Then he rubbed his neck awkwardly and cracked a bashful smile. “Hey darlin’, hope I didn’t wake ya.  
\- It is alright, I was just about to stand,” Hanzo groaned as he stretched his back. “What were you singing just now?  
\- Oh that’s a li’l gospel song. One o' the few Ma taught me.  
\- I see. It was lovely,” the archer replied quite sincerely. Then he stood and proceeded in shaking his blanket, while pointedly avoiding the cowboy's amazed look.  
“Thank ya kindly Hanzo,” Jesse finally said with unveiled softness.

[… Through some research, I found out that almost all of the songs I heard the cowman sing, from the time we spent in prison cells to now, actually exist.  
It is quite a surprising discovery, for I had never heard any of them before. Admittedly I cannot be sure of it, I could have forgotten or tuned these songs out until they were over. With my distaste for certain musical genres, it is not impossible.

If I found them unpleasant back then, I find them a little appealing now. Except for country, that shall remain the black sheep of the cowman's repertoire. I still do not understand why this genre has so many contradictory songs about love; either it is the best thing in the world or the worst, as if there is no in-between.  
Obviously I am not the best judge on the matter and I should not pay so much attention to this small detail, but it still seems ridiculous that the country writers could not agree on it as well as they agree on dressing style.

Today was a remarkably quiet day, in terms of events and sound. McCree rested his voice, while I made sure Stormbow was not in need of a calibration. Usually it requires a bit of tweaking in-between sessions, but I found nothing that needed a readjustment. Even the string is intact, in spite of the intense shooting I have done while running through the canyons and combatting Jubokko.  
Like my endless stock of arrows, it seems to be inexhaustible. A highly valuable advantage, for I do not have the tools and materials required for maintenance.  
It seems to be the case too for Jesse. I have seen the man pull handfuls of bullets out of his pockets, which could not possibly contain all the ammunition he has fired so far.

We silently rode for most of the day, until we stumbled on a pond of clear water in the late afternoon…]

In complete opposition to the swamp, the water was so limpid they could see the algae recovering its rocky bottom. It looked so clean that it seemed out of place in these woods.  
But it seemed to be perfectly normal, as McCree was not the very least surprised. He even cheered in fact, startling Hanzo and making Sis fold her ears back in annoyance.

“Ya see that Han'? It means we're still on the right tracks.” He told the confused archer. Then he promptly jumped off the saddle, before courteously lending Hanzo a hand to step down. “Ya can swim in it if ya'd like to, there're no leeches for the most part.  
\- For the most part?” The archer frowned at the cowboy. “You are aware that this is not a reassuring information, and that setting a toe in a den of bloodthirsty worms is about as tempting as a mud bath, are you not?  
\- Yeah well there might be a few in there, I ain't gonna lie.” Jesse shrugged. “But ya should be able to spot them, water’s so clear a ghost couldn’t hide in it. Worst case scenario, ya can jus’ remove ‘em by hand an' I'll even help ya if ya can't reach 'em. We'll be fine.  
\- We? You intend to bathe as well?  
\- Damn right. I ain't as obsessed 'bout cleanin' as ya are, but I like to wash too every now an' then.”

Hanzo took no offense, at this point it was not a secret that he tended to be a little manic about hygiene. But he could not help but throw the ball back. “I remember a certain cowboy bragging about how 'mud makes a man' when he came out of the swamp covered in odorous sludge. Was I imagining things?  
\- I think ya're pretty aware by now that I tend to say some bullshit time to time.” McCree pouted, before cracking a teasing smile. “At least I can take a dip in dirt an' not have a stroke about it.”

The archer rolled his eyes, then he looked back at the water.  
On one hand, he truly itched to bathe, a sensation of being absolutely filthy having followed him since the mud slide. On the other hand, he was not ready to fully strip before another human being, even with a trusted friend like Jesse McCree.  
Thankfully the cowboy had caught up to his unease, for he nudged his shoulder and spoke seriously. “Hey, don’t worry, we can go one at a time. Ya first probably, considerin' I'm the grimiest.  
\- I doubt even you could soil this entire body of water. It looks so pure…” Hanzo hummed, kneeling by the edge. He could not see any leeches as far as he could see.  
He reached out and touched the surface of the pond with the tip of his fingers, causing a ripple on the smooth surface ; the water was far colder than he had expected with the ambient temperature. “Where is this coming from? The mountain chain?  
\- Bingo. Kills me to take a dive in such chilly water, but I don't wanna end up killin' ya with my smell.  
\- I appreciate your sacrifice,” the archer huffed. Sis's scent had been overpowering so far, but he doubted that either one of them smelled like roses.

[… We first let the horse quench her thirst, then we took turns to bathe in the pond.  
Although I trusted Jesse a lot more than I did when I was his prisoner, I still made him swear not to look at me until I had my clothes back on.  
Jesse accepted with no fuss, even offering that he put a blindfold on if that could make me more comfortable. Whether he was joking or not, I categorically refused; it would have certainly eased my mind, but we have to stay cautious and keep an eye out in case we are not alone. Especially when one of us has to be vulnerable the time of a bath.

Since most of the nearby bushes were poison ivy, I had to strip down in plain sight, my eyes never leaving the cowboy's back. I trusted Jesse not to look, I still do now, but it changed little to the fact I was getting naked in the presence of another man. It is not reprehensible to have apprehension in doing such a thing when one has a sensitive modesty as I do and, dare I say, chastity.  
I entered the cold pond as soon as I could in spite of the drastic difference of temperature. My whole body tensed up unpleasantly, but I was able to become accustomed to its chilliness rapidly. I did not think taking cool showers in winter would ever serve me in such a way…]

This was Hanzo’s first real bath since the Inn in Little Bones’ Creek. While he regretted the warm water and the certified absence of any leeches, to have enough room to completely lie down in the water and swim made this bathing simply delightful.

Time to time he snuck glances at Jesse out of paranoia, but not once did he surprise the cowboy staring.  
In fact, the man was actually busy. He had taken out the snake skin and unrolled it over a piece of bark, now carefully puncturing the borders of the skin with a needle.  
Curious, Hanzo swam to the edge and sat on a rock, squeezing the water out of his hair while he gazed at Jesse's gestures. “What are you doing?” He asked as the cowboy was sewing the skin.  
McCree looked up from his work, but he avoided looking back at the archer. “The skin needs to be dried, so I'm gonna stretch it over that bark. It'll be hard to obtain a quick result in this humidity, but I wanna give it a try,” he explained while he continued his needlework.

“Is this something you do often?” Hanzo inquired, fascinated by the gentleness and precision Jesse displayed.  
“Naw, it's a skill I picked up from literature an' tryin' my hand on whatever I had to kill in order to eat.” Jesse smiled, eyes still on the skin as Hanzo dried himself. “What I don't need, I either sell or give away to poor folks.  
\- And what do you intend to do with this?  
\- Well it ain't much surface, but I figured it might protect yer bow from the rain.  
\- That would be very useful, thank you.” The archer smiled at the cowboy's back. “Quite a precious gift. I wish I had something to give you in return.  
\- Naw, ya don't need to. Though I wouldn't mind a peck on the cheek for my hard work.  
\- Now you are just fishing for them.  
\- Aw, what could've possibly made ya think that?  
\- Let me think. Oh, I remember. A bribe to get you to climb down, a friendly trade for a punch, that sort of thing. Does that ring a bell?  
\- For the record, I’d gladly receive anythin' from ya. Except a punch, that ain't somethin' I'm into.  
\- Far from me the wish to find out what exactly you are into, but I dully note your comment on the subject.” Hanzo replied flatly, with a smirk pulling at his lips.

When it became Jesse’s turn to bathe, the cowboy did not bother warning Hanzo. Instead he nonchalantly discarded his hat and serape, before attacking the buttons of his plaid shirt.  
The archer almost automatically adverted his eyes. Maybe McCree inwardly trusted him not to sneak a peek and felt he did not have to state it. Or he was comfortable with him staring. Even if the latter was true, that did not mean he should.  
Besides, he was used to turning his face away from what caught his interest.

“Holy moly it's _cold_!” Jesse yelped upon entering the water, his protests eventually turning into unintelligible hisses. Hanzo ignored him and kept watch instead, surveilling their surroundings with an hawk's eye, tension coiled up in his stomach.

He thought of the assassin, still unsure whether they were dealing with a copy of his brother, a symbolic entity or another random person he had unconsciously created.  
A thorough examination of the shuriken had revealed no significant marks whatsoever. All it had was a dent from its impact with Jesse's armor. The cowboy had been direly lucky; without the sturdy protection, the sharp edges would have assuredly bit far enough into his shoulder to sever nerves and paralyze his arm, if not cut through enough veins to cause important blood lose.  
With their lack of medical equipment, any severe injury would irremediably result in death.

He almost jumped out of his skin when McCree touched his shoulder. He was already dressed, with the exception of his hat that he held by the brim. His wet hair was barely any tamer than usual, the locks dripping with water.  
Had the cowboy bathed that fast or had time flown by while he was in his thoughts?  
“Y'alright there pardner?” Jesse withdrew his hand, an appraising look on his face. “I've called yer name like three times, but ya didn't answer.  
\- I am fine, my apologies. I was just making sure no one snuck up on us,” Hanzo replied, disconcerted that he did not hear his companion's calling.  
Jesse relaxed and dismissively waved. “No one's gonna sneak up on us. I mean, a top-notch Dragon man an' a naked cowboy, who'd wanna watch that?  
\- People would demand to be paid,” Hanzo retorted with a small sneer to counter the man's smug grin.

[… We set our camp a few meters away from the pond, the night so chilly we had to settle against Sis's flank to keep warm. Once one gets accustomed to her smell and the heaving of her breathing, it is cozy enough to sleep.  
When dusk came, fireflies made their presence noticeable by emitting soft glows. Their appearance reminded me of happier days, when my brother and I chased after them with nets, just to release them all at the end of our hunt…]

Next to Hanzo, McCree tightened his blanket around his body and sighed deeply. “Ya know, I'm glad this place's untouched. It's the most romantic spot of this forest I can think of. Gets me all mushy inside.”  
The archer held back a chuckle. “That is a spot difficult to reach. Would you really bring a loved one all the way from the towns to this place? That is some extreme courting.  
\- If they are as stubborn as I am, I'm sure they'd pull it off jus' fine.” Jesse winked.

The undertone was not fully lost to Hanzo, but he preferred not to assume anything. “I can see why you named this forest the way you did,” he said instead to divert the conversation away from romance. “Of all the things we have seen in this forest, it is by far the most relaxing place we have seen so far.”

There was a fleeting silence, during which Hanzo made himself more comfortable. With the blanket and the two heat sources in his near, a fire was not all that necessary.  
Jesse was the first to break the silence. “Hey Hanzo… Ya've been starin' at the map a lot lately. Ya ever think ‘bout what it leads to?  
\- No, I have not with the latest vagaries. I was mostly wondering if our assailer is the one who made it,” Hanzo replied, following the course of a firefly with his eyes. “But if you must know, I think it will lead us to a place no one has ever visited before, except maybe for the author of the map. Somewhere peaceful and beautiful I hope, or at least worthy of all this trouble. What about you?  
\- I'm afraid I ain’t as original as ya are.” Jesse chuckled with a hint of self-deprecation. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout riches an’ jewels an’ whatever’s clunky an’ shiny. Maybe throw in a few archeological remains, 'cause that's always wonderful to see.  
\- Should we find riches, what would you do with these?  
\- First of all, buy my own bounty so these backstabbin' turds stop huntin’ me. If there's some left, I’d use it to build my own house in the Horse Hills an’ live my li’l life there. I’d raise few chickens, a cow an’ a bull, maybe a a couple o’ goats. Oh an' I'd have a huge ranch jus' to shelter the horses durin' storms an' winter.”

Hanzo felt his lips stretch into a smile at McCree's little speech. “Sounds like you have put a lot of thought to this already. Farm work is very taking though.  
\- It’ll always be more rest than scoutin’ about for felons an’ treasures. No offense pardner, I’m havin’ a good time travellin’ with ya,” Jesse barked in laughter.  
The archer stared at him in surprise. “You are enjoying yourself? After every dispute and misfortune we had?  
\- Ain’t a fun quest if nothin’ bad ever happens, is it?” The cowboy hummed as he stared back at him.

[… Once again I find myself mesmerized by Jesse McCree. The man is full of surprises and he keeps on giving.

I find myself facing a dilemma now. What kind of gift could possibly suit a cowboy? And how should I craft it with the little I have in my possession? I once knew how to make origamis, but I have no paper outside of the map and surely lost my touch. Besides I need to make something that will be sturdy enough to last and preferably useful to Jesse…  
I believe I have found my occupation for the day.”

**– Saturday night**

“Having spent a rather frustrating evening and waking up on the wrong foot, I actually asked Jesse to sing the song about the Big Rock Candy Mountains. Now that I enjoy his voice enough to tolerate what he refers to as bluegrass, this diversion seemed like the best way to make this morning a little less drab.  
Additionally I regretted passing out during this one.

I probably should be ashamed of myself, but I do not feel sorry…]

“I'll see ya all this comin’ fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains… So, did ya like this one?” Jesse hummed, throwing a glance at Hanzo.  
The archer had started frowning over the mention of ‘cigarette trees’ and continued doing so all throughout the song. “It was- It was alright,” he finally uttered, “but the lyrics are quite perplexing.  
\- Ain’t supposed to make sense pardner, this song ain’t about geometry,” McCree mused. “This is a hungry an’ thirsty hobo dreamin’ their li’l dream. Ya never imagined such stuff when ya were in need? If ya ever were in need?”

Hanzo discreetly chewed his bottom lip. Until he had left Hanamura, he had never suffered a shortage of funds. Upon settling in another country, he had been forced to start from zero and thus known the laborious life of the working class.  
That had lasted until he had become a renowned writer, then it had started all over again after Genji's hospitalization, slowly but surely…  
“I have been in such situations, but I never imagined such things as trees growing cigarettes, rocks sweating alcohol or lakes of stews.  
\- Well I guess ya wouldn’t imagine them trees if ya don’t smoke. An' to be fair, I ain't sure rock booze would taste that good. But why not the lake o’ stew? Sounds pretty yummy if ya ask me.  
\- I think you know me well enough to answer your own question.  
\- Ah yeah, it ain’t really clean… What if it were trees growin' pots filled with stews an’ clean cutlery? Would ya eat it then?  
\- That sounds even more ludicrous but I suppose I would,” The archer admitted, enlivened by this absurd conversation.

[… After much thinking, I did find an idea for a gift.  
I had rummaged his brain all throughout yesterday, only to figure it out while I made a new arrow for my Kyūdō practice. Hence my frustration.

McCree has a few knives on his person, for self-defense and utility purposes. But all of them are too large or too long to be concealed otherwise than in pockets. When the deputies did a body search on him back at the Sheriff’s office, they found all of them.  
Thus my idea of a gift for Jesse is a small blade that can be hidden inside his clothing or concealed up his sleeve.

I first made a cord out of dead vegetation, to serve as a strap; I had thankfully taken upon himself to learn how to do such a thing before falling asleep, or else this would have been difficult. Then I sacrificed an arrow to collect the tip and fletching. Had I not had a limitless amount of ammunition, I probably would have never done such a thing.  
The arrowhead obviously serves as the blade, and the fletching is to prevent it from hurting Jesse if he hides it in his sleeve.  
To secure the sharp tip and the fletching together on top of attaching them to the cord, I first tried to use the longest of my own hair. Sadly they were too fragile and kept on breaking when I tried making a knot; it might be the sign that I need to change shampoos, which I cannot do for I cannot find anything of affordable quality.  
So instead I stole a few horsehair from Sis's tail, careful to take detached ones so the horse would not buck me off. Once I had collected enough of them, I managed to weave a sting that should be durable.

The end result was rather satisfying. As I am unused to craft anything besides arrows, I am very happy of my handiwork.  
I shall give it to McCree the day he will offer me the snake skin. Since I have managed to do my crafting behind his back, it will be quite a surprise.

Shortly after I was finished, Reaper returned. Just in time, for we are getting nearer the borders of the forest and, from what I understood, he will not be able to come with us. It would have been a shame to part ways without saying goodbye, even if all the owl does is screeching.  
His return also brought some light to the awakening of Jubokko…]

Just as he promised, Reaper had shown himself without scaring the living lights out of Hanzo; a dark fog had slowly crept out of the shadows on their path, turning into an owl before their very eyes.

The archer had only seen Reaper materialize once, and it was in the sheer darkness of the barn. This time he was able to observe the transformation, as it occurred in direct sunlight. The black mist flew over a low branch, slowly taking the shape of a bird. The wings emerged first, then the fumes fell like a drape and dissipated to reveal the owl.  
After stretching his feather theatrically, Reaper greeted both men and the horse with a shriek.

Jesse practically jumped down the saddle and rushed to the bird, catching him in his arms. He gave him a hug so tight that the startled entity let out a shriek and Hanzo worried he might choke or burst into a cloud of smoke.  
Then McCree slightly loosened his embrace and Reaper climbed onto his shoulder, cooing and affectionately biting his ear.

“Y’old coot, ya scared the shit outta me. The Heck happened to ya?” Jesse asked while running his fingers over the owl’s back. Reaper puffed his feathers and replied with a soft hoot, which the cowboy immediately translated: “He says it’s a long story.  
\- Then perhaps we should pursue our travel while he tells us, well you rather, what exactly happened on the day of the fire,” Hanzo offered, awkwardly fidgeting on Sis's back. Without Jesse sitting in front of him, he did not have much to hold onto if he lost his balance. Furthermore it was too early in the day to stop and set up a camp.

Thus they continued riding through the woods, Reaper sitting on Jesse’s arm and shrieking his story. Again he had one extra eye set on Hanzo, but his staring felt a little less piercing and the archer hardly found it disturbing anymore. The sight of the Jubokko had been so ghastly, the owl seemed perfectly normal in comparison.

Jesse progressively translated his story, picking up whenever the owl paused:  
“When Reaper got to the scene, he found three people standin' before a flamin' tree. A slender firecracker an’ a large guy holdin' a flamethrower, aka Junkrat an’ Roadhog. An’ the third person was… Some freaky ass ninja? I'm jus' quotin' him Hanzo. His terms, not mine,” he promptly added as the archer frowned deeply.  
“Anyway, Reaper was about to,” he paused and looked back at the bird, who raised his foot and slowly ran a talon over his own neck, “admonish them 'bout startin' fires when the ninja attacked. As for the junkers, they pretty much freaked out.  
\- Interesting,” Hanzo whispered, absently scratching his jaw.  
Junkrat seemed like the pyromaniac out of the two junkers, why would Roadhog be in possession of the flamethrower? Moreover he had stopped his companion from using it the day they met, for he believed in the legends surrounding the forest.  
Perhaps he had torn it from Junkrat's hands after he had lit the fire? And where did the “ninja” stand in this equation? Had he formed a partnership with the junkers?

Hanzo realized both Reaper and Jesse were staring at him, and that passing his fingers over his unattended beard was a lot noisier than usual.  
“Sorry. Please, do go on,” he hastily replied, making a mental note of shaving sometime soon.  
The cowboy had a slightly teasing smirk, but he made no comment and continued being the spokesperson for the owl:  
“So the junkers pretty much scampered off shoutin', while Reaper assessed the ninja an' said-do I really have to say it?” Jesse cut himself off to stare at the owl, afflicted. “Come on, that was awful. Even I wouldn't say that in yer shoes,” he sighed after the bird retorted with a rattle.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. What sayings could possibly embarrass Jesse McCree of all people? “What is it? What did he say?  
\- Quoth the raven… “I’ll fuck ya up”. Again his words, not mine.”  
The archer tiredly rubbed his eyes. “I am sorry for asking.  
\- An’ I for translatin’. Ya’re makin’ Poe spin in his grave ya twat!” Jesse admonished Reaper. As the bird was cackling at their exasperation, the cowboy rolled his shoulders to make him cease. “Seriously that was simply terrible, an' the guy probably heard nothin’ but a shriek. No wonder ya lost, ya can’t make cool punchlines.”

The owl pinched his nose in retaliation, and Hanzo could have sworn he saw Jesse's eyes become watery. “What happened next?” He pressed to end the standoff.

Reaper released McCree and continued shrieking its tale, a little crotchety.  
“He took on the guy, but it didn't turn out so good. The ninja slashed him up like- thanks Reaps, I didn't need that imagery- like that lizard he ate for breakfast an’ partially regurgitated in a pellet.”  
This time Hanzo deliberately interrupted them. “Wait, how is this possible? You are a ghost, are you not? How come you were taken down so easily?” He asked Reaper.

The owl glowered at him with all of his eyes in such a way Hanzo prepared to shield his face from either beak or talons, but Jesse intervened. “Ya can't blame Han' for askin'. It does sound weird after seein' ya all smoky an' shit.”  
Reaper groaned, then turned his face away. “The thing's that he can't attack people when he's all smoky. He's gotta solidify his beak an' claws for that,” the cowboy explained as he poked the owl's chest. Reaper immediately retaliated by biting his finger. “See? Bein' physical makes him able to lash out, but that also makes him vulnerable.”

The bird released Jesse's finger and stared back at Hanzo, who swallowed. “I apologize, I meant not to be rude,” he muttered, wondering what Genji would say if he found him begging the pardon of an owl.  
Reaper squinted, then he closed most of his other eyes and nodded at the archer. Then he pursued his story.  
“He tried his best, but didn't get the chance to even nick the guy. Ya only get that far bringin' talons and beak to a sword fight. Jus' before he faded into oblivion, he had the time to see the guardian rise from the ground. There was tar-like stuff eruptin' all around it, so much it caused the fire to go out o' control.”  
Jesse paused to take a deep breath, then he sighed heavily. “Well I guess the junkers survived. Ain't too happy 'bout it, but I don't think they'll go after us after this mess. However I've got no doubt the ninja Reaper's talkin' about's the same guy who tried to get us at the bridge.  
\- That would unfortunately explain the use of these,” Hanzo muttered as he pulled the shuriken from his quiver.

The owl caught the piece of metal between his talons and observed it under every angle, before he hooted twice. “He confirms he got one o' these thrown at his face. He also added he couldn't get a good look at the ninja's face, but he did get closely acquainted with their blade. It was a Japanese sword about this long, an' rather stylish.” By way of illustration, Jesse spread his hands.  
Hanzo frowned. If he were to judge from the gap, then the sword was either a katana or an odachi. He could not be certain unless he saw the blade himself, but he doubted any other weapon could pass as a 'Japanese sword'.

“This is not good at all. Wielding such a sword and throwing stars is not something anyone can do. We have a dangerous person after us, who must know the field as well as you do. They might have manipulated Junkrat in starting a fire, despite his stubbornness and awareness that this place does not tolerate arson. I do wonder though, how could they avoid this tree creature?  
\- If we’re talkin' about an actual ninja, they could’ve hidden outta sight in a tree or somethin'. That thing was damn scary, but it didn't look that smart overall. Not to mention there was the fire right there, pretty big distraction if ya ask me.  
\- It is all hypothetical… But it does not matter. What is certain is that we have a margin of time before they catch up on us. However we should definitely not linger around. We may be two-I mean four,” he added when both Reaper and Sis manifested themselves noisily, “we may be _four_ against one and own long distance weapons, but it would still be wiser not to take any chances.  
\- I think we could totally take on one ninja all together, but I gotta agree with ya. This place has too many hiding spots for a sneaky bastard, an' one misplaced shot in a leaf could rile up Treezilla.”

[… Later on, Jesse and Reaper got into an argument. It started when the cowboy spoke of our gruesome discoveries; the mass grave, and the potential connection between this massacre and the hanging corpse at the abandoned ranch.

I must point out that it became rapidly difficult to follow this conversation, because the owl's shrieking is still impossible to comprehend and McCree could not be bothered to translate as he was too busy retorting acerbically at his guardian angel.  
From what I could extrapolate from Jesse's replies:  
\- Reaper confessed he knew about the grave. He had found it way before we did and yet never told the cowboy about it.  
\- The reason he did not is because he estimated that the ex-bounty hunter had already plenty on his hands dealing with the living. Moreover these cadavers had been there for a while, they could wait a little longer. Jesse disagreed, saying they had waited long enough and that “justice ain’t gonna dispense itself”.  
\- Reaper made what I assume was a scathing remark about our journey and/or me, for Jesse got very defensive and then switched in Spanish, speaking so fast I could hardly understand despite his recent teachings. I did catch a few insults thrown left and right, namely 'stuffed seagull' and 'chicken shit'.

Eventually they ceased, only to sulk like children (I did not think I would ever use that term to describe a cowboy and a bird and yet here I am). As welcome as the silence was after this clash, the tension accompanying it became quickly annoying. Time to time Sis threw her tail against my back with less harshness than before, as if asking me to intervene.

I eventually decided to take matters in my own hands and extended an olive branch…]

“Rotdown Forest or Hundred Acre of Death Wood?” Hanzo asked out of the blue.  
Jesse awkwardly turned to face him, while Reaper's head rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees, every single one of his eyes opened.  
“We recently discussed on renaming the forest. Forest of Tranquility is unacceptable since tranquility has been absent for the most part, and Forest of being eaten alive by trees is widely inaccurate. I personally thought of ‘Rotting Hollow’, but we did not meet anything that remotely resembles a headless horseman.”  
The owl and the cowboy exchanged a long glare, then they both nodded at the same time.

[… We had to use dead leaves, mud, and a lot of patience as Reaper tore through three leaves before he could write his choice (A for Rotdown Forest, B for Hundred Acre of Death Wood).  
The results were two votes for A, one for B and one blank vote. I suspect it was Sis, for she just stomped the leaf with her hoof.

This was the most surreal thing I have ever done in my life, just after going on a treasure hunt with a cowboy.

Our evening was rather quiet, a peace none of us wanted to break. Reaper remained a little grouchy, staying on the cowboy's shoulder like a vulture. I could almost miss Jesse singing. He surprisingly has not uttered a song since Reaper showed; perhaps the owl shares with me a common dislike for country, or the cowboy does have stage fright in the presence of more than one spectator.

I did surprise Reaper rubbing his head against Jesse's ear, and the cowboy scratching his neck in return. It seemed the vote did help breaking the ice, in which case I am glad. As unfriendly as the owl is, I do not aspire to be on bad terms with him and I am sure Jesse does not too.

As we set our camp, I came to the conclusion that the relationship between these two is not unlike a family bound. It is my opinion based on the following facts:  
\- The owl truly aims to protect Jesse, even when he wants none of it.  
\- He is very concerned about the cowboy's wellbeing.  
\- He has shown a lot of suspicion toward me and might be irked by our quest.  
\- Their dispute reminded me of a father admonishing a child.  
I could be utterly mistaking, for I still cannot understand Reaper and have no idea whether his arguments were right or harsh.

I have also come to realize over these last days that Jesse now occupies a lot of room in my thoughts. There are times I catch myself thinking of him as an actual person, and no longer a creation of my mind. I wonder what he would say seeing one of these westerns I keep inexplicably finding whenever I watch the television, or what he would think of me sneaking up onto the rooftop like a petty thief to practice my shooting.

In these moments I try to admonish myself for having such thoughts. This is a fictional character after all.  
But a character so, oh so intriguing that he went beyond being a work of creation. I have absolutely no control over Jesse McCree; I cannot change the way he looks and act.  
Not that I have any desires of doing so anymore. I appreciate him the way he is in all his tackiness and flaws, with his intriguing and frustrating personality.

It is difficult to really ascertain the gravity of this evolution. After all, I believed for a long time that my family was normal. That the way I was treated was normal.  
Some wounds run deep, long after the scars are gone. Mine have disappeared, yet they remain sore after all this time.  
The soothing balm is knowing Genji was spared from this tougher treatment, even though this favoritism (if not neglect) spurred an insufferable jealousy in my core back then. I twisted its neck the moment Genji’s fate fell in my hands, yet traces remain.

For now, I shall continue to keep Jesse’s existence a secret. Even if having an approximation of an imaginary friend cannot be a good sign about the state of my mental, he is in no way nefarious. In fact, I believe he has had a rather positive influence on me in many ways; I strive to be positive although it is not yet working, and I can think of my dreams when the pressure on my mind gets too hard.  
Yet I still believe my editors would not be rejoiced, despite these dreams having inspired and uplifted me over the past weeks.

I also noticed that my memory has considerably sharpened since these dreams began, for I still remember certain details vividly long after waking up and writing them down. I was unable to before, even though my nightmares were always centered on the same subject; the accident that put Genji in his coma and me in years of misery.  
I wonder if this development will help me sort my recollection of that night. But whether it does or not will surely not bring me any good. Some things should be put in light and others left in the dark, but how can I know when I remember nothing but small fragments?

The assassin has me concerned too. Not only they have skills that make them a pursuer more dangerous that an entire mob of cowboys, but the mystery on their identity is equally worrisome.

Supposing they are Genji, or rather how I assume Genji will feel if he wakes up one day, then he will surely put us through a bad time. After all, how can I dare dream of something good when he is stuck in a hospital bed? To this day Dr. Ziegler was unable to tell me if he was aware of anything. If he is, I cannot begin to imagine the hell I put him through.

Supposing they are not Genji, then who or what could they be?  
If they are another person I made up, then I must confess that I am very curious to find out who they are, while not looking forward to meeting them if that means getting attacked once more.  
If they are an entity of some kind, then I can only imagine so many possibilities; reality catching up on us seems like the most plausible one, for they targeted Jesse the most.

Whoever or whatever they are, I shall protect the cowman. He is my responsibility, and truly the closest friend I have had in a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested to hear the songs I mentioned so far in the fic, you can find most of them in the [O'Brother soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2weIVqWXOw&list=PLMsFR-IuG_7F0EspAuL9NvBtsruK14F4s&index=1) ʕ≧ᴥ≦❀ʔ  
> My personal favorites:  
> \- [I'll Fly Away](https://youtu.be/GJtTfP2hEHU)  
> \- [Big Rock Candy Mountains](https://youtu.be/n-WQ05ViZI4)


	26. The Calm before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: attempt at poetry (˃̵ヮ˂̵)
> 
> I did not make a Brokeback mountain reference in this chapter and I almost feel bad about it.
> 
> Also, important announcements in beginning notes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all? Welcome back to the regulars and welcome to newcomers (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)
> 
> Thank you soooo much for the kudos and comments, I'm honestly amazed to have received so many since the very first chapter ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ
> 
> Before we get to the chapter, I'd like to make a quick two announcements:
> 
> \- I've been hitting a very rough patch lately and it's going to suck for a while. So I'm going to try to upload next chapter either on Halloween or the week after, then take a one-month hiatus from updates. DO NOT WORRY, I'll still work on Lucid Dream, I just need time to recover and work out what will happen next (｡◕‿◕｡)
> 
> Anywayz, [here are the doods I made to accompany the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/166683817681/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-started-to-move)
> 
> Enjoy~~~~

On Sunday, their travel through the freshly renamed Rotdown Forest finally came to an end.

While the frontier between the broken Plate and the woods could not have been any neater, the transition from the grassy woodlands to rockier grounds was much softer. The edge of the woods were a long clearing that stretched on until the slope ascending toward the mountains, the tall grass growing scarcer around white pebbles. The trees and bushes were much thinner and fewer in number, offering little to no shadows. Hanzo actually had to shield his eyes from the sunlight, unused to such brightness after spending so much time in the dark forest.  
Faraway before them stood the mountain chain, just as majestic as it was when the archer saw it from the treetop. While the mountainsides offered more or less vegetation, the multiple peaks were all covered in snow. Bits of fog drifted lazily over the sides, masking some of the relief.

While this progression filled both men with glee, it also brought sadness upon the cowboy for they had to say goodbye to Reaper. As McCree had explained, the owl was confined to the forest and could not venture outside of the borders.

They stepped down Sis’s saddle, the horse eagerly strutting to a patch of healthy-looking grass while McCree embraced Reaper like there was no tomorrow. He then proceeded in ruffling the plumage on the back and head of the owl until he looked more like a porcupine than a bird.  
“Gonna miss ya Reaps. It’s a shame we couldn’t spend that much time together. But hey, we’ll meet again when we come back. Look forward to that ‘cause I’ll probably have a buncha stories to tell ya.” Jesse grinned, while Reaper fussily preened his feathers back to place.

Hanzo chose not to be this familiar with the owl, instead bowing respectfully at him. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He said, trying not to think about the chaotic morning Reaper’s appearance had caused.  
In response to his half-truth, the owl stared at him for a long time, with a look that did not need a translation; it could only mean something along the lines of ‘I will skin you alive if you mess with my protégé’.

As much as Hanzo did not care for Reaper’s approval, he thought more judicious to clear the air. “Please walk with me for a moment. We must talk.” He added, extending his forearm.  
The owl eyed him wearily, then he flew from Jesse’s shoulder and landed on his gloved wrist. The cowboy’s bafflement and curiosity could not be more obvious.  
“Ya sure ya don’t want me to tag along? Ya ain’t gonna understand a single shriek.” He offered with a rather poorly faked nonchalance.  
“It will be fine Jesse, I will do most of the talking.” The archer smiled back, before he walked a few steps away with Reaper perched on his yugake like a hawk on a falconer’s gauntlet.

Once they were out of the cowboy’s hearing range, Hanzo spoke up. “I may not understand you, but I am no fool.” He declared while withholding the piercing glare of the crimson eyes. “I am aware the road is full of dangers and that our partnership has exposed Jesse to them. However we both know he is a capable man; he has traveled on his own before he met me and knows this land better than I do. Even if we get caught off guard by trouble and strife, I swear on my life that I will do everything in my power to protect him. He is my responsibility.”

Reaper looked back at him, and for once Hanzo was able to see the intelligent gleam in his crimson eyes. The owl gave his wrist a firm squeeze with his fingers, mindful not to press his talons into the leather of the glove.  
Feeling a little more comfortable, Hanzo tentatively brushed the bird's neck with the tip of his fingers and was surprised not to be bitten or shrieked at. “I do have a parting gift for you, so to speak.” He smiled as Reaper's eyes widened. “I have thought of it in the morning and I do apologize if it sounds unfinished. I usually have more time on my hands to come up with these.”

He cleared his throat, then proceeded in reciting the poem he had composed within the span of a day. While he had to keep his voice low, he played with the intonations to give the text the intended effect:

“Behold Rotdown Forest;  
Of all woods the obscurest,  
Within which even the brave  
Soon find their early grave.

Buried deep down in its entrails,  
Awaits an unseen sleeper  
Between rotting roots and mud.  
When the gale-force wind wails  
And the gnarled trees quiver,  
It rises, thirsty for blood.

Daring trespassers, run away!  
Do make haste, for it will not tire.  
Everything in its path it shall slay,  
Blinded by hatred, guided by ire!

Ignorant one who wanders in,  
Stop and head the word to the wise.  
Harming nature is a sin,  
And the price sinners' demise.

If you still wish not to listen,  
At least seek for the cenotaph  
Where the names of countless dead are written  
And leave your will and chosen epitaph.”

Reaper stared at him with shimmering eyes, then he whistled rather loudly. The sound did not go unnoticed, for both Jesse and Sis perked up. “The heck did ya tell him?” The cowboy peeped, the astonishment making his voice higher-pitched.  
“Something. Why, what did he say?  
\- He whistled Hanzo, _whistled_! Owls don’t do that in the first place, an’ sure he ain’t any regular owl, but he doesn’t do that ever!” The owl then cut him by hooting a couple times. “He-he says he can’t make it all fit on an ol’ plank but he’ll make it happen somehow even if he has to drag a fallen tree outta the woods. Seriously what did ya tell him?  
\- Nothing special really. A small token for allowing me to walk by your side.” Hanzo replied modestly, watching the owl take off and vanish into the woods. “If you really wish to know, it is a caption to put under a new panel at the entrance of the woods, so people will know better than venture in here.  
\- Uh… I guess I’ll have the honor o' seein' it when we come back from our odyssey.” Jesse huffed, a little grumpy to have been left out.

The archer had to smother a chuckle at the sight of the cowboy’s grouchy face. “I suppose you will. And if he has not made it by the time we come back, I will recite it to you.”

 

–

They rode toward the mountain chain, Sis freely galloping until the rocky ground became too much of a discomfort for her hooves and ankles. When the angle of the slope became too abrupt to keep on going up, they headed toward the West, striding along the highlands.

Wild flowers and bramble were the only vegetation present, along with small bushes that had been bent by the wind. There were more luxurious flora by the small rivers they walked over, the tiny streams of water trickling down the rocks most likely resulting from snowmelt.  
The direct sunlight kept them warm for the most part, as they were dealing with a cool temperature and a rather harsh frontal wind. Hanzo was shielded by McCree’s stature, but the slightest turn exposed him enough to wish for a scarf. At one point he had been close to ask the cowboy if they could share the serape, only to blush and hold his tongue; despite the fair proximity they had developed recently, it was too daring, too bold of him to make such an invasive request.

Jesse was hardly bothered by the gust, his face protected by the Stetson. He smoked and hummed to himself, at some point doing the same air Hanzo had been trying to remember a few nights ago. The archer listened quietly, a little humbled by the cowboy's liking it enough to memorize the whole thing in one hearing.

Very much unlike the woods, the area was quite populated. Brown ibexes appeared from behind rocks, looking up at the newcomers with a caution that was telling of how little people travelled through here. Either they would flee as they approached, or they would stand their grounds and maintain an eye on the two men and the horse until they had gone past theirs spots. Some of them were even quite impressing, sporting curved horns that were about Hanzo’s shoulder length. These ones they were careful to keep away from, for a confrontation would assuredly turn sour.  
They also spotted marmots in the rock piles, very briefly for one whistled to sound the alarm and all of them hid out of sight. And later a lonely eagle scouting the ground for preys made them argue about wether the bald eagle should be referred to as an eagle or an erne.

It was a nice walk to say the least, and the archer almost melted at the sight of ibex calves strutting among a group. Jesse had not been so bashful, openly cooing.  
To Hanzo, it was a rather endearing reaction that was almost just as adorable as the display.

They even stumbled on a beautiful alpine mire, the body of water reflecting the sky and the mountains. It had grass and wild flowers growing all around, making it a remarkable spot of color among barren rocks.

They took a quick break here to let Sis drink and eat, McCree finishing his cigar and Hanzo sitting by the water to inspect his own reflection.  
He made a face; his beard was losing its neatness and a significant stubble was invading his jaw. If he did not attend to it any time soon, Jesse McCree would have a competitor in terms of scruffiness.

Another reflection appeared next to his as the cowboy walked over and slumped next to him. “Careful or you'll fall in love with yer pretty face.” He teased, before he dipped his hands in the lake. He brought the cold water to his mouth and took a very noisy sip, the sound irking Hanzo just enough to make him retort.  
“I have been around mirrors Jesse, and I am not fond of what I see in them.” He sighed, watching his reflection as the ripples caused by the cowboy distorted the image.

The cowboy almost choked on his water. “Whaddya mean? Ya're the most gorgeous man, er, dragon I've ever met!” He sounded almost angered by his disapproval, as if the very idea of the archer being described as ugly was an affront to him.  
Nonetheless Hanzo was not flattered. “What is the point of beauty, when it is wasted on the soul of a killer?” He lowered his gaze furthermore, his hands clenching the fabric of his hakama. “It only serves as a mask, a disguise to conceal the ugliness that festers inside. But once you have taken a look behind the mask, all you see is the rotten creature that hides behind it.”  
The words were harsh, he was aware. But they hardly had any effect on him anymore, he had told them to himself quite enough.  
Jesse looked at him thoughtfully from beneath his Stetson. Hanzo could feel his staring, but he resolutely refused to meet his eyes.  
“Ya ain't wrong. Some people have a face that is a travesty of who they really are. But it doesn't sound right to put ya in the same category. Ya've opened up a lot to me so far, an' the person I'm seein' behind the face ain't rotten. I've known rotten people Hanzo an' ya ain't one o' them.  
\- … You have a rather high opinion of me it seems.  
\- Sure I do, but it's an opinion based on facts, not jus' feelings.” He could almost hear the wink in Jesse's smooth voice.

The seriousness of their conversation dissolved rather at lightening speed, when Jesse reached into the water a second time to take another sip and fished out something. “Oh… Oh hey!” He beamed, cradling whatever he had fished out with precautions.  
“What did you find? You should put it back in the water.” Hanzo frowned, turning to face the cowboy.  
Jesse dipped his hands back into the water, but he did not release the creature he was holding. “I think… I do not know how to tell ya this Hanzo, but I think I found a relative o' yers.” He announced gravely.

Hanzo gazed at the cowboy in bewilderment. “What in the world are you talking about?”  
With a stern expression, Jesse opened his hands to reveal his tiny captive.

The archer blinked, then he immediately slapped his own forehead while the cowboy's poker face melted into a mocking smirk. “See? I think they're a distant cousin o' yers or somethin'. Or maybe yer hidden twin.  
\- Jesse, this is an axolotl.” Hanzo spat, pointing at the tiny, pink being that was delicately pawing at the cowboy's fingers and goofily smiling. “They are amphibians. Dragons are reptiles.  
\- Tomato tomato. There's definitely a family resemblance right there!” Jesse chuckled, pointing at the axolotl's gills. “All he's missin' is a mustache an' a frown, an' ya wouldn't be able to tell the difference.  
\- Ah. Well who knows? Maybe we will find a relative of yours one day. My bet is on a tumbleweed full of tobacco ashes and cat hair.”

–

After they got back on track, their meetings with wildlife became rarer and the cowboy started to look a little tenser, probably apprehending whatever made him nervous about the mine. It made Hanzo want to try his luck asking for details, but he had accepted to take Jesse’s word on the dangers of the place; asking again would be ultimately insulting.

“Jesse, how are we going to see anything once we are inside the mine?” He asked instead, although that was also a good question in itself. “We have no source of light outside of your lighter and I believe it would be dangerous to have a naked flame in a coal mine.  
\- There’s been no diggin’ for a while now; all the firedamp either leaked out or is still confined underground. But ya’re right to be cautious, gas can be tricky.” Jesse nodded. “There’s electric lightenin' in some parts o’ the mine. It’s a bit minimal an’ downright fickle at times, but it lights the way jus' enough. But don't ya worry; jus' in case it fails us, there are lanterns an’ oil by the main entrances o’ the mine that we can grab. It's a loan for those who need to go through an’ fear the dark. Our inside friend may be a complete hermit, he still makes sure that whoever has no choice but to go through the mountain can do it safely. The shortcut is safe in itself, but ya could still trip an' hurt yerself without proper light.  
\- Hold on, _our_ friend? Keep in mind that there is a chance he will not trust me. Reaper did not seem in the first place, although I did threaten to fire an arrow at him, but it is likely I will meet a similar distrust.  
\- Aw Han’, that wasn’t aimed at ya. It’s my fault, I hung with plenty o’ wrong crowds with Deadlock an’ all that jazz. Reaps can be pretty nice, he’s jus’ worried ‘bout me gettin’ bit in the ass by my past.”

They followed the slope of the mountain chain, until they stumbled on an old road that had been reclaimed by nature. “This is pretty much what's left o' the road to the mine, the rest got buried in an avalanche. ” Jesse explained as Hanzo scrutinized the roadway. “There used to be so many passages here, back when people worked at the mine. There’s mainly coal, but also metal an’ interesting minerals down in the entrails o’ the chain.  
\- And yet it is abandoned now.  
\- Yeah it is, I guess.”  
The archer was ticked off by the wording. “You _guess_?  
\- Look, you don’t have to worry ‘bout it. All ya need to keep in mind is that the shortcut is secured an’ I’ve got a pal to help us through if necessary. Maybe he’ll bother to show up an’ say hi, but I wouldn’t count on it. He’s a bit of a grumpy loner, makes Reaper look pretty sociable in comparison. An’ he's a demon owl who can’t talk proper an’ eats whole lizards! Without even chewin' for Christ's sake!  
\- You have very strange friends cowman.” Hanzo scoffed, before adding on a fonder tone: “It suits you though. A cowboy, a demon owl and a mountain hermit. It almost sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.  
\- Hey look who’s talkin’! That’s the teapot callin’ the kettle black. Ya have me for pardner, pardner, an’ ya ain’t the definition o’ normal yerself.” Jesse winked, making the archer smirk. He was not wrong, Hanzo was hardly less strange with his Dragon descendant background.

“This hermit though, is he human? Or is he another bird from out of this world that only speaks in headache-inducing shrieks?  
\- Not quite. He’s jus’ a guy… A peculiar kinda guy, rough ‘round the edges an’ all, but a good guy overall. An' understandable, though he tends to grunt more than he speaks. Sometimes he’s more bear than man, but he ain’t one unless there’s such a thing as furless bears. Besides I've seen no features that hint otherwise, though I never got a proper look at his face.”

–

About an hour later, McCree nudged Hanzo and pointed at the rocky wall. “Look ahead. There it is.”  
Almost hidden behind scree, there was an opening in the wall of the mountain. Several beams framed the entrance, and an old panel was hanging from one nail on one of them. If it used to bear the name of the mine, it was now unreadable; over it had been carved ‘KEEP OUT’.  
Hanzo raised a critical eyebrow. “Charming. I would like the same welcoming sign above my door.  
\- Well it’s kinda the point. Gotta keep scavengers out an’ a cute ‘home sweet home’ doormat wouldn’t quite convey the same message.”

As they approached the opening, a loud detonation occurred within the mountain. The ground shook and a thick cloud of smoke and debris spewed out of the cavity, shortly followed by what sounded like a gunfire gone awry.  
Sis stumble back with a panicked cry, Hanzo almost falling off her back. He clang on Jesse for dear life, while the cavalier pulled on the horse's reins and struggled to keep her calm.

Once the firing ceased and the cowboy had regained control on his mount, he looked back at the archer who was still holding onto him. “Y’alright pardner?”  
Hanzo promptly released McCree and nodded wordlessly, coughing as the wind blew the fumes in their direction. “What was that?” He asked once his throat was cleared of dust.  
“I'm takin' an educated guess to say that this was a fuckin' explosion followed by the shortest epic firefight ever.” Jesse whispered.  
“I had gathered as much.” Hanzo quipped back dryly. “What caused it however?  
\- Dunno. Let’s go an’ find out.”

He jumped off the saddle and unholstered Peacekeeper, leaving Hanzo no choice but to get down on his own. The archer awkwardly slid down Sis's flank and grabbed his bow, notching an arrow as he slowly followed the cowboy to the entrance.

They waited for the dust to fully settle down, then Jesse grabbed a nearby plank and waved it before the opening. As nothing happened, he took a discreet peek inside. “Hello?” He then called.  
Outside of his voice being dimly echoed back by the rocky walls, there were no responses.  
“Do you see anything?” Hanzo whispered, his hand resting over Jesse's shoulder to pull him back if another gunfire broke again.  
The cowboy shivered almost imperceptibly at the contact, then he shook his head. “Can't, 's dark as an oven an' the sunlight ain't helpin'. But I don’t think there’s anyone in ‘ere, or else they would’ve unleashed all hell on us by now.”

Once they were certain the explosion had not weakened the structural integrity of the entrance, they cautiously stepped inside.  
Lingering fumes clang to the dusty air. While Hanzo was no expert in manufacturing bombs, that heavy smell was surprisingly familiar. In his childhood, back when his mother was still alive and he had not yet been confined within his own home, he had attended enough firework shows to recognize the scent.  
“Black powder.” He muttered. 

The familiar click of McCree's zippo opening made him jump. “Must you really? I agree it is very dark in here, but this is reckless.” He frowned at the cowboy, although having visibility in the dark corridor was comforting.  
“Darlin', er, Hanzo, everythin' remotely flammable in the vicinity either went off in that explosion or was unharmed. 'Sides I'll close it once we have another light source.  
\- Wait, everything? You only told me about the oil for the lamp.  
\- Okay, I might've skipped the stack o' gun ammo that is kept by the shortcut. It's jus' in case really, an' I didn't think ya'd care much for it.  
\- I do not indeed, but perhaps this explosion was a accident and the gunfire that followed was due to the gunpowder burning? Or else this was an incident, and the perpetrators left long before it blew up. We saw no one leave after all.” Hanzo remarked.

Jesse seemed to study his suggestions, before he shook his head. “I would've consider an accident if I didn't know my friend any better. He's a real pain in the butt 'bout safety, he makes sure often that the barrels ain't leakin'. Even if they were, ya'd still need an energy source to light it all up an' the sunlight can't reach that far inside. That explosion was totally caused by someone.”  
McCree then crouched down and inspected the ground minutely. “Thing is that I don't see any remains o' fuse lyin' around. An' if the powder was directly ignited without retardant, it would've blown up within seconds... Why would someone do this though?”  
Hanzo could only stare back silently, clueless on the matter. “We will have to see for ourselves.” He finally said.

The very source of the smell was revealed when they reached an intersection, or rather what used to be one. One of the passageways was blocked by an impressive pile of rock debris, from which emerged broken planks of wood and twisted metal. A bit of smoke still elevated from a spot by the rubble, dark with sooth and littered with bullet casings and broken glass.

As the cowboy failed to muffle a stream of curses, Hanzo rapidly deduced the nature of the blocked passage. “That was your shortcut.” He slowly annunciated.  
Jesse rubbed his face, visibly struggling to keep his calm. “Yep.” He uttered in his beard.  
“I see. And what exactly is the remaining way, which is shut with a metal grid and decorated with a plethora of skulls and warning signs on spikes?  
\- That's the long way through the Mine.”

The archer was this close to pulling on his own hair out in frustration. Karma was going to follow them everywhere they went, was it not? He should have named his compendium 'Two Idiots and a Series of Unfortunate Events'.

Since McCree was already failing to maintain his cold blood, he did his best to stay collected. One of them had to stay lucid for their own sake. “Please tell me you have also explored the long way at least once.” He said with a hint of hopefulness.  
Jesse sighed heavily. “Yeah, a few times actually, before the shortcut was a thing. But each passage left me achin' like an open wound.”

Hanzo's stomach grew cold, as if he had swallowed an entire bucket of ice. “How so? Explain yourself.” He asked, his composure intact but his voice slightly urgent.  
“Ain't a very long walk when ya know the right way, 's like a day or two at most, more if ya're slow or simply dunno the way. But it's still longer than the shortcut an' that's if we don't… If we don't meet…”  
Jesse choked on his own words and paused to clear his throat, while the archer worriedly stared at him. “There are… _Things_ in there. Nasty things that creep around in the dark an' take on whatever an' whoever gets lost down 'ere. They'll pick at yer mind an' fuck with ya till ya're hurtin' so bad you'll surrender or end yerself.” The cowboy indiscreetly shuddered, not bothering to hide his discomfort.

Hanzo held his breath. He had never seen Jesse so worked up; even the broken Plate had not rattled him this much.  
Forcing the cowboy to climb when he was afraid of heights was something, but forcing him to walk through a place he dreaded so much was too dire. “If you wish to leave, I will not hold you in contempt.” He whispered regretfully.

Jesse practically swirled around to face him, the unease having vanished from his face and now replaced with indignation. “Are ya sendin' me away?” He accused animatedly. “After everythin' we've been through?  
\- Well we cannot go over the mountains. Maybe it is best I go through here alone and you follow Sis to the opposite side, since you clearly do not wish to be here-” He was cut off as Jesse grabbed him by the collar of his Gi and shoved him against a wall, the lighter dangerously close to lightening the silk on fire.  
“No one wants to go in there!” He spat, his face so close to the archer's that their noses were almost brushing. “Even ya don't wanna go through this hellhole! Ya just don't know it yet!”

They stared at each other, then McCree went silent and still, exhaling and inhaling several times in a row. The archer, who had been so startled by the outburst to say or do anything, slowly reached for Jesse's hands. But he had barely brushed them that the cowboy released him and removed the creases his fingers had left in the fabric.  
He then looked up to meet Hanzo's eyes, his own reflecting the flame of the zippo. “Thanks, but no thanks Han'. Made a deal with ya, an' I'll be damned if I don't honor it after that ya've saved my hide a buncha times. Ya ain't goin' through here on yer own, I'm comin' with ya.”

Hanzo felt his face warm up, touched by Jesse's dedication and alarmed by the closeness of their faces. He could feel the cowboy's breath brush his dry lips and he had to fight the urge of worrying his bottom lip.  
Hopefully the coloration of his cheeks would go unnoticed with the flimsy lightening.  
“You… Your determination is noted.” He replied, before quickly hiding his emotions behind jest. “I am certain the treasure would appreciate it.  
\- Oh ye o' li'l faith, ya wound me with yer distrust.” Jesse winced with a comical frown, clutching his chest theatrically. Seeing the cowboy recover his usual goofiness so quickly through pleasantry was quite relieving. “If I didn't give a damn 'bout ya sugar, I would have left yer fine butt rot in jail after ya threatened my way out. I saved ya from the rope before I even knew there was a treasure on the roll!  
\- Rubbish! I would not have let leave without freeing me.” Hanzo boasted, his mouth twisting into a grin. “I would have nailed that tablecloth of yours to the wall!”

Jesse playfully elbowed him with a chuckle, then he stared at the dark path. He looked quite apprehensive, but the friendly squabble had eased the stress lines on his face. “We won't be alone in that cave… Plenty o' foes, but two friends.  
\- Did you not say one earlier?  
\- That’s two with ya included pardner.” Jesse winked.

Hanzo was about to press further on the 'foes', when a very faint hiss echoing from the depths of the mine cut short to his thought. “That would be the foes?” He whispered, on the lookout for more noise.  
“Yep. The explosion probably rattled them. As long as I keep us away from their territories, we shouldn't meet 'em... Can't promise they won't venture outta their nest though.”

He turned toward the entrance, where Sis was waiting and pawing at the ground nervously. “Ya go ol' girl, we'll be fine. Ya be careful yeah? Watch out for wolves.” She neighed in response, reaching back with her head for something on the saddle; it was the rope, which McCree had fixed by simply knotting the separate lengths together. “Oh thank ya, but we won't be needin' that. Gotta travel light in this place. See ya on the other side!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am putting my copyright on those KEEP OUT doormats ٩( ᐛ )و jk, that's already taken sadly.


	27. The Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: really spooky**  
>  I hope this is a warning fair enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOO!  
> Happy Halloween y'all ⁽⁽٩ʕ๑˃̶͈̀ ᴥ ˂̶͈́ʔ۶⁾⁾ hope you're having fun and collecting all the candies you can eat!  
> If you don't celebrate Halloween then happy end of October (˃̵ヮ˂̵)
> 
> A billion thank you to all of you, newcomers and regulars! I'm so happy that you guys enjoy my writing and my art, and I'm touched that you are so understanding about my needing a hiatus ʕ꒦ິᴥ꒦ິ`ʔ  
> So I worked hard to deliver you this chapter, which is 13 pages long in my document ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆ ʔ *gasp*
> 
>  
> 
> [Anyways, here are the cover art and the couple doods I made to go with the update ʕ≧ᴥ≦❀ʔ](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/166993581741/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-spooked)
> 
>  
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy the hell out of this new chapter ٩ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ۶ have a nice reading!

The grid blocking the way to the long path was locked, the key hidden inside one of the skulls sitting by the entrance. Unfortunately Jesse had forgotten which one, so the two man had to search every single one of them.  
“I ain't the one who chose to put it there.” Jesse defended himself when the archer made a face. “Ya gotta admit it's a good hidin' spot.  
\- Certainly, but a quite unsavory one nonetheless.”

They had overturned almost all of the skulls when Hanzo finally found the one withholding the key, an old rusted thing that was almost as long as a pen.  
The two men had to combine their strength in order to push the grid open and close it once they were through. It was heavy, its frame reinforced with barbwire, metal plaques and wooden boards full of nails. Clearly it had been built with the intent of keeping the foes of the mine _inside_ the mine.  
As McCree locked the gate shut, Hanzo could not shake off the discomforting thought that they were sealing themselves off in a lion's den.

On the other side of the grid, they found a few wooden boxes stacked in an alcove, thankfully protected from the blast and left unharmed. Each contained all kinds of mining equipment such as picks and helmets, but most importantly lanterns filled with oil. McCree grabbed two of the latest and lit them, before he handed one over to Hanzo. “Be careful with these. 'S all pretty old, an' breakin' one can be as devastatin’ as droppin’ a lit Molotov cocktail.” He warned while putting his zippo away.  
“Sounds quite secure to me.” Hanzo sarcastically replied, firmly gripping the handle of the lantern.  
“I'll bring a flashlight next time.” Jesse retorted with a little smirk. 

They dreaded with caution into the dark depths, McCree opening the way with his lamp out at arms' length to enlighten the path as much as he could. Hanzo followed closely behind, watching his footing as various rubbles and junk littered the ground.  
“This place's very much like the Moria, although ya might not know what that is… Basically a bunch o' greedy asses dug too deep for their own good, so deep they woke stuff that should've never seen the light o' the day. There's evil down 'ere, an' the only two people who got close to it an' lived to tell the tale are me an' my friend.”  
Hanzo refrained from replying that he was familiar with J. R. R. Tolkien's work and quietly nodded instead. While it would not be much of a paradox considering he was supposed to have dragon blood in his veins, it would surely amount to Jesse calling him Legolas more often and perhaps influence his dreams.  
Besides he truly hoped they were not going to meet an actual Balrog of all things. It did not seem to be the case according to Jesse's description of the foes, but for all he knew they could be just as dangerous or worse.

“Anyway, if ya hear somethin' weird, ignore it a'right? 'Cause there should be no one but us an' my other friend in this place.  
\- What exactly is in this mine Jesse? I think now would be a good time to tell me more.  
\- I don't rightly know what to call 'em… I think I might, but I ain't sure. Whatever they are, ya don't wanna make acquaintance with 'em.  
\- Yes, I had memorized that part the first time you told me.” Hanzo sighed. He truly wanted to press forward and not go blind in this place, but Jesse was clearly not going to talk about the beings populating this mine at all.  
Did he have a mental block of some kind? Perhaps he could not talk about these things rather than he would not? Whether it was the case or not mattered naught; if they did not wish to meet the foes, it was better not to devolve into another argument that would surely carry out throughout the mine with the echo.  
“Your friend. When will we find him? Having an ally with us, friendly or hostile to strangers, would be highly appreciated.  
\- If he's in the shortcut, he'll have to exit on the other side o' the mountain chain, go back in an' walk all the way to our position. If he's already somewhere on the long way, then he should find us soon. Hopefully.”

–

It took Hanzo only a few minutes to realize how foolish he had been to think he could have gone through the mine on his own.  
The site was an incredible maze. Trenches and corridors opened onto large rooms ornamented with stalactites, stalagmites and remarkable crystal formations. On the way there were occasional ponds of hard water so saturated it was more turbid than milk, mining equipment in a state of complete disrepair, unstable wooden structures, slippery dips and pits easily avoidable.  
Veins streaked the coal, slightly glistening at the light of their lanterns. Some looked silvery, others golden or just plain white. Sometimes they were just tool marks left by the miners who had worked the stone so long ago.  
The air was stale and clammy, water filtering through the pores and cracks of the rocky ceiling. Drops occasionally fell down from the stalactites, causing the archer to have minor heart attacks every time one plummeted on his head or in his collar. A slight draft blew through the corridors every now and then, but it was a rare occurrence and it stirred the coal dust, making the air almost unbreathable.

If it had not been for the looming threat of the mysterious habitants of the mine and the abandoned gear rusting all over the place, Hanzo would have found the exploration of this mine somewhat interesting.

But as they dreaded further down into the galleries, Jesse's behavior became all the more strange and worrying. The way he was acting was unprecedented; he would perk up as if he had heard something Hanzo did not, ask the archer if he had said something at times he had been mute, and clench his prosthetic forearm hard enough to make his leather glove creak in the oppressive silence of the underground.

It was highly plausible that the man's nervousness was wearing his mental down and causing his phantom pains to act up. It could also mean that whatever he dreaded was getting closer, but Hanzo had not heard or seen anything unusual. Certainly it was dark, but any small sound like the muffled tinkling of McCree's mud-caked spurs was echoed a thousandfold; the archer could not have missed anything that was loud enough to alert the cowboy.  
Maybe Jesse was losing his sanity. Maybe he was claustrophobic on top of fearing heights. Hanzo could not blame him, he started to find the tight spaces and the obscurity unbearable.

After almost two hours, or whatever time had gone by since they had last been under the sun, all the archer wanted to do was to drag the cowboy out of here and find an alternative path. Sadly he could not foresee another way to the other side; McCree had been pretty clear about how impracticable the mountains were, and Sis surely had gone off to whatever dimension she used to travel through impracticable grounds. This time the horse ex machina would not come to their help.

They eventually reached an intersection, where Jesse had to sit down and glare at the two paths while trying to remember which way they were supposed to take. The archer tried to keep his distance at first, for the cowboy surely could use some space without his travel partner breathing down his neck. Until he overheard Jesse ranting and realized he was actually admonishing himself under his breath.  
“This ain't complicated for fuck's sake. Right or left? Think ya doofus, _think_.” He growled, before he gripped his arm and smothered a pained groan.

That was it. He had to do something.

“Jesse?” Hanzo softly asked, approaching McCree as slowly as he could. Jesse slightly jerked when the archer crouched by his side, but held still when he rested a hand on the cowboy's tensed back. “Are you alright? Your stress is highly palpable.  
\- I'm as fit as a mouse in a snake's cage.” The cowboy chuckled half-heartedly. “But that might be 'cause o' the handsome dragon tailin' me.  
\- Cease your nonsense and be honest with me. What ails you? You are afraid, and it is not one of your smiles or flatteries that will make me think otherwise.”

At his failure of making Hanzo recoil with innuendos, Jesse's face fell. “I ain't scared.” He muttered, looking down at his boots with his shoulders hunched like a child caught doing something reprehensible.  
“Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. Do you need to get out? We can still walk back to the entrance and figure another plan.” Hanzo offered without much conviction. He had absolutely no idea what else they could do right now.  
McCree exhaled dejectedly, reaching out to pat the archer's hand. “I ain't gonna lie, I really wanna do that. But I made ya a promise an' I'm a man o' my word. I can't jus' back down.” He then faced Hanzo, and the archer was startled and almost horrified to see the angst darkening the cowboy's face and the hazel eyes clouded with tears. “I'm scared Hanzo, I'm fuckin' terrified. I’m afraid that I'll take a bad turn an' screw us up.” He confessed in a hushed voice. “This deep in the mine, there could be somethin' waitin' for us at every turn.”

Hanzo slowly took Jesse's hand and held it between his own. The metal was cold for the most part, except for the palm that had been resting over the archer's knuckles. “What would that something be?” He asked, although he doubted the cowboy would answer.  
Jesse wiped his eyes with his bandana, then looked deep into Hanzo's eyes before he finally answered. “Demons Hanzo. _Demons_.”  
A drop of sweat ran down the archer's neck and he had suppress a shiver as his skin covered in goose bumps. Jesse's unease was not only obvious, it was also contagious.

Hiding his discomfort, he gave Jesse's hand a firm squeeze. Then he realized the cowboy could not possibly feel it, so he released the prosthetic fingers and cupped McCree's shoulders instead. “As long as we stay together, I believe we shall be fine.” He declared earnestly.  
Jesse blinked at him, then he sniffed and smiled tentatively. “I hope so… Sorry for slowin' us down, we should probably get goin'.  
\- Actually we should not right now. You are unwell and it pains me not to be of any assistance.” Hanzo retorted, with more concern and regret than bite. “Is there any way I can help you?  
\- Trust me darlin', yer presence helps a lot more than ya know.” McCree smiled weakly. “That, an' knowin' there's a pretty place on the other side, where we'll be able to bask for a bit.  
\- Do not tell me it is the Candy Rock Mountain.  
\- Ya wish! Nah, t'is the Horse Hills that await… Hey, if ya really wanna help, I gotta ask ya; are ya good with massages?” A short silence followed his question. Before Hanzo could answer, the cowboy's face decomposed and he hastily stammered: “I-I don't mean anythin' dirty by that, I jus' could use an extra hand to sooth my arm an'… Ya know what, forget I ever said anythin', I'll be fine. I've handled it in the past, I'll handle it again.”

At first, the very idea of touching the cowboy made Hanzo’s skin crawl all the more. The mere pecks given by the same man had caused such a turmoil in him, naked skin contact would only summon another unappeasable storm.  
But as he looked at Jesse's face while the cowboy hemmed and hawed to dissipate the awkwardness raised by his request, his opinion differed. He could not refuse to alleviate the suffering of his partner on such a selfish, squeamish argument. He had dealt with muscle cramps in the past and learned how to appease phantom pains, in case Genji would feel any after waking up. It was time he put these skills to good use.

“Cease your yammering and remove your arm, I will do my best to appease your pain.” He cut McCree off, swiftly removing his yugake and resting it over his thigh. “But just this once, as a reward for your braveness and determination.”  
Jesse stared at him in utter stupefaction, his eyes so wide they could have fallen from their sockets. But he made no comment, working to detach the prosthetic the fastest he could.  
Once the limb was off, Hanzo carefully brushed the scarred stump with the tip of his fingers. The skin was hot and slightly pulsating under the touch. “It feels irritated. Are you feverish?” He asked the cowboy who was still looking at him in awe.  
“Uh? N-no, I ain't.” Jesse stuttered. “It's all in the head really. Can't have a sound body when yer mind's fuckin' it up.”

They stayed like this for a few minutes, Hanzo kneading Jesse's arm while the cowboy tried to relax and keep watch at the same time. The small sighs of relief that escaped the cowboy's lips gave the archer a sense of accomplishment; he not only helped McCree feel better, but he also found the contact far less upsetting that he had dreaded. Maybe the nights spent sleeping side by side to stay warm had something to do with the lack of discomfort.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hanzo eventually hummed, letting his fingers still over the tanned skin.  
“I think better ain't strong enough to express how I feel right now. Ya've got nimble fingers Han'.” Jesse purred, removing his elbow from the archer's hands almost reluctantly. “Feels like ya've done this often. I saw ya dealin' with yer legs back at my hide-out, but I didn't think none of it back then.  
\- Having excruciating muscular stiffening after entire days spent training spurred me to learn how to relieve this sort of pain.” The archer replied as he put his glove back on. ‘Not to mention I hated the idea of someone else’s hands on my body.’

As Jesse seized his prosthetic arm from the floor, Hanzo failed to retain his curiosity. “Did you… Did you lose your arm here?”  
McCree shook his head. “Ain't the place, but I sure as hell relive it whenever I come here. Ain't too bad when I use the shortcut, jus' a slight itch at most. But through the long way? It hurts like a motherfucker.” He then bit back a groan as he reattached his arm. “God, I don't care 'bout who caused the explosion, I jus' wish I could twist the bastard's neck.  
\- You think they are still alive?  
\- Well there were no bloody body chunks anywhere, so whoever did that probably took off in the shortcut an' got walled in. Hopefully the ceilin' crushed 'em when it collapsed, that'd be a pretty fair payback if ya ask me.  
\- I am wondering if it is not the doing of the 'ninja'.” The archer shrugged while tucking his glove back over his sleeve. “But they could not have traveled that fast through the Forest and beat us to the mine. And even if they had somehow, this is a strange shift in modus operandi.  
\- Maybe they did this hopin' we'll croak on our own an' good riddance! Well too bad for 'em, I aim to disappoint.”

Once Jesse was done, they stood up together and looked back at the two entrances. The cowboy was still nervous, but the pain that had plagued him was now gone. “I remember the way, it's over here. The other is basically a free drop in a salted lake.” He said as he pointed at the left path. “Come on.”

–

The rest of the walk through the network of sinuous galleries continued in a deathly hush, both men alert for any sound. Jesse had not experienced additional phantom pains since the massage, but he had lost his good mood. In fact he looked so wound up, Hanzo worried he might set him off by merely breathing a little too hard.

They were about to pass another intersection when the archer paused. Something on the wall had caught his eyes and he squinted, approaching his lantern to the stone in order to get a better look. Deep streaks littered the surface, forming a mess that looked nothing like natural creases or metal veins.  
He walked closer to the wall and inspected the lines. They were all about as large as a thumb, more or less parallel to each other and furrowing deeply into the wall. What kind of tool could have caused this? Some kind of rake? But for what purpose?

Acting on a hunch, he brought his free hand over the scratches. He had not even touched the wall that he immediately became aware of the fact that the space between the lines was not unlike the gap between his own fingers.  
Were these claw marks?  
A shiver ran up the archer's spine. If he was not fooling himself over coincidences, then what creature could have left such deep scratches into solid rock of all materials?

“Ma?”

A faint sound tore Hanzo from his observations and he turned around.  
He was alone at the intersection, McCree had gone on without him. The voice he had just heard was his, and it seemed like he had gone quite far ahead of him.  
“Jesse?” Hanzo called, unsure whether he should raise his voice or not. What if the foes of the mine heard them?  
Then again, if he did not speak loud enough, his lost partner might not hear him.  
“Jesse answer me!” He hissed.  
No response.  
Great. He had lost an anxious cowboy in a mine and it was entirely his fault.

Hanzo could almost slap himself. He should have warned Jesse right before stopping to inspect the wall; the cowboy had been most likely too distraught to realize his partner was no longer following him. And if the archer had not been so taken in his findings, he would have noticed the only source of light was the one emitted by his lantern and that there were no other sound but his own breathing.

The worst was not knowing which way the cowboy had taken. Hanzo had chosen the wrong time to be engrossed in the markings. Had he gone right or left?  
In the best case scenario, he would pick the correct path and catch up on McCree.  
In the best worst case scenario, he would get it wrong, find a cul-de-sac and have to double-back here to take the other way.  
In the worst of the worst case scenario… He would fall down a pit or find a 'demon', a foe, whatever the things Jesse feared were named.

The light of the lantern flickered and Hanzo hesitantly stepped away from the marked wall. He could not stay in place spot and do nothing while the cowboy potentially drifted further away from him.  
“Jesse?” He called again, barely daring to raise his voice. What if whatever lurked down here heard him play this ridiculous Marco Polo game and wanted in on it? Supposing it was even real in the first place, since they had not seen a single living being in this forsaken mine?  
“Jesse McCree I swear that if you do not answer me right now, I will make you eat your boots and your hat when I find you! Spurs included!” He called a hint louder out of frustration.

“Over here.” A voice suddenly replied, coming from the opening on the right. It sounded like Jesse's, still coming from afar but reassuringly closer than before.  
“Thank the Dragons, I thought I had lost you for a moment.” Hanzo sighed heavily, making his way toward the right entrance. He then paused before the dark gallery, extending the lamp to see as far as possible.  
While he saw nothing in peculiar, something made him hesitate; a smell flew past his nose, too faint and fast to identify it. Nonetheless it caused the hair growing on his nape to stand on end.  
Moreover, if the cowboy had been walking back to find him, he should have been able to hear his footsteps. And right now, the only sounds he perceived were his own breathing and heartbeat, which had started to pick up.  
“Jesse?” He called again, uncertain.

Suddenly a blood-curling scream resonated from within the mine, startling the hell out of Hanzo. A scream of pure agony, as if someone was put through unimaginable torture.  
Even though he had never heard McCree scream like this, he still recognized the voice as his.  
“Jesse!” Hanzo called. His lantern brandished ahead of him and Stormbow held in a tight grip, he dashed in the right corridor. “Where are you? What is happening?” The unease he had experienced was still there, sounding the alarm that there was something wrong, but Hanzo set it aside. The cowboy was hurt and assuredly needed him, he needed to focus on his voice and find-

“Anija?”

Hanzo stopped in the middle of the corridor, almost stumbling as both his body and mind broke to a halt.  
The familiar voice had sounded far ahead, so far it was barely audible. He was mistaking, he had to be, still he was certain that he had heard it right.  
“Genji?” He gasped breathlessly, his hand clutching so hard onto the grip of his bow that his joints turned white.

It could not be. His brother could not be here, and yet- “Hanzo?” -and yet his voice was coming from within the mine, neat, real. He was not imagining it.  
“Genji is that you? Can you hear me?” Hanzo asked, daring to raise his voice as he took a few more steps. He flung the lantern higher, trying to enlighten the end of the tunnel. But the range of the light did not extend far enough. “Where are you? Answer me!” He beseeched.

There was a short silence, then another anguished scream resonated from deeper in the corridor. “Hanzo!” That definitely was Genji, there was no mistake in that. And he was crying in distress, just like he did in his nightmares.  
Without thinking twice, Hanzo threw his bow on his back and ran deeper into the maze of corridors, the lantern swaying and casting worrying shadows on the walls. “Genji!” He called, his heart furiously pounding in his chest and his anxiety sky-rocketing.

The archer chased madly after his brother’s voice, taking so many turns he lost all sense of direction. Genji’s voice seemed to come from everywhere with the treacherous echo, forcing him to stop time to time and quiet his own ragged panting to pinpoint the origin of the sound.  
Concern for Jesse and his warning about the beings lurking in the mine resurfaced, only to be immediately drowned in smoldering anguish. The archer could not summon a single coherent thought, his mind nothing but a twisting mess with one goal: he had to find his little brother and the cowboy. Maybe they were together somehow. He was going to save them and get them out of-  
_“Hanzo!”_

Hanzo tottered. That was not coming from anywhere around him, that sounded from within his own head.  
_“Hanzo wake up!!”_  
The ground abruptly fell from under his feet. His mind went completely blank as he plunged down. A few seconds later he crashed against the ground. The air fled his lungs and the lantern slipped from his fingers, crashing a few centimeters away.

The archer wearisomely stood up with a groan, white pain searing through his knees and elbows. The humid stone was strangely soft, but not soft enough to cushion his fall.  
In fact there was no longer dirt beneath his hands, but grass. Grass, and cubes of broken glass that bit into the skin of his palms.  
He looked up, utterly confused; the ceiling and walls of the mine were gone, replaced by the open sky and tall pine trees.  
And before him was a wreckage.  
_The_ wreckage.

What had once been his car four years ago was overturned and eaten by flames. The bodywork was dented in several places and crumpled on the front. Smoke poured out of the windows. A nauseating smell of burnt plastic and hot metal filled the air. And through the windshield-  
“No, no, this can't be.” Hanzo choked, his own voice catching in his throat and his innards turning cold, as if an icy hand was gripping his guts. “Genji!”  
Through the remains of the windshield, his brother was lying face down. He was not moving and his clothes had caught on fire.

“Genji!” Hanzo shouted again, the scream tearing his dry throat.  
He wanted to throw himself into the fire, tear his brother from the burning wreckage, but he was petrified. This could not be here, this could not be happening here, he was- he was dreaming. Or hallucinating in his dream. Or having a nightmare within a dream. He did not know, he did not know anymore.

But then Genji moved; he was weakly crawling, pieces of laminated glass falling as he extirpated himself from the broken windshield. He was crying out and blindly swatting the air, his body bleeding from multiple wounds and devoured by flames. “Hanzo!” He screamed, extending a hand toward his brother.

The archer ultimately stopped thinking; he rushed forward, reaching for his little brother.  
However he was abruptly held back. He turned, only to find that the fabric of his Gi was caught on a sharp stalagmite.  
What was a stalagmite doing here? There had been none of these in the park. Only grass and trees. And he had not been wearing these clothes that night-  
He was still in the mine. None of this was real, he was still in the mine.  
'This-this is not real. I'm not there, I'm in the mine.' He told himself, trying hard to regain his footing. “This is not real!” He said out loud, shutting his eyes and pressed his palms against his ears to mute Genji's cries.

To his surprise, the fumes dissipated and the harsh light of the inferno piercing through his eyelids grew dimmer and dimmer, reducing to a smaller fire.  
When he dared open his eyes, he was met with the familiar sight of a dark hall with rocky walls, decorated with stalactites and stalagmites. The flames were coming from the puddle of oil his lantern had released in the fall, the fuel having caught on fire shortly after.  
The trees, the car, Genji, they were all gone.

A new odor assaulted Hanzo's nostrils, making him gag and instinctively press a hand over his mouth and nose. This time it was decay and decomposition that filled the mine, making the miasma of the swamp much more pleasant in comparison.

The air abruptly vibrated behind the archer and his head was pulled back by the hair, the violence of the tugging briefly blocking his airway. Then there was a weight on his back, legs clutching his waist and claws sharp as a razor lacerating his sternum.  
Fighting reflexes took over panic; Hanzo wrestled with his attacker, ramming his back into the closest wall to stun them. The first time did nothing, but the second did the trick; the hands clawing at his skin lost their grip and the legs squeezing his sides loosened their tight hold.  
The archer immediately got a hold onto his opponent's wrists, bent forward and threw the aggressor over his shoulder. They were surprisingly light for someone so tall and strong.

Ignoring the burning scratches on his chest, Hanzo stood in a fighting stance and quickly evaluated the threat.  
But he found himself unable to proceed, as he was horror-stricken at the unexpected sight before him. 

A couple meters up ahead, barely enlightened by the orange flames, a creature was crouched on the floor. It seemed humanoid at first glance, except it was veritably distorted and twisted beyond imagination.  
It was pale and grey, almost white, its body worryingly gaunt to the point of emaciation and crooked. The limbs were spidery, the skin stretched over sinuous muscles and bones.  
What was more, the worse part had to be its face. It had absolutely no identifiable traits, just a mashed up, broken thing that was twitching disgustingly.  
Gleaming in the near obscurity, milky white eyes pushed back deep into their sockets stared back at him. And a mouth, which looked more like an open wound across its head, had a wide rictus displaying an overwhelming amount of grey, sharp teeth that were as long as an arrowhead.

All of the sudden the fangs spread open and his brother's voice came out of what was supposed to be a mouth. “Anija?  
\- Genji?” Hanzo whispered, stunned. This looked nothing like his brother, it did not even resemble a human being! And still it had his voice, coming out so clear…  
“Anija?” It repeated almost exactly the same, except the last 'a' melted into a bestial growl.

A muffled cry escaped Hanzo’s lips, the archer overwhelmed by both relief and terror. “You are not Genji.” He faltered as he backed away from the terrifying being. For each step he took back, it took one forward, moving with the fluidity of a feline and still mimicking his brother's voice.  
“You are not Genji!” He repeated, louder to shake off the trauma and hopefully scare the thing away.

Suddenly he was stuck, his back against the wall he had fallen from. The small flames surrounding his broken lantern were dying out, darkness creeping onto him slowly but surely.  
Just as the fire went out, the creature attacked.  
With a horrible rattle, it leaped from the ground and ran toward him, long claws extended and aiming to rip his face off.  
Hanzo could not move, frozen in place and deafened by Jesse and Genji's screams, which had melted in a nightmarish cacophony.

All of a sudden light flooded the corridor and a familiar voice rose from above Hanzo. “Get down!”  
The archer dropped to the floor like a wireless puppet.  
The gunshot that followed made his ears ring so loudly it deafened the screaming of his own mind, giving him a flimsy clarity.

The thing had reeled back with the hit and was now writhing on its back, its jerky limbs flailing as it let out high-pitched hisses. Hanzo remained on the ground, unable to move as the creature ran off into the depths of the corridor, scuttling like a cockroach.

Hands grabbed him and pulled him onto his feet. He was about to fight back, when he was faced by Jesse McCree's sweaty face.  
“Honey, y'okay?” The cowboy panted. Hanzo shook his head, having to lean against the cowboy’s chest as his legs wobbled; he needed to concentrate, tune out the panic ravaging his brain and focus on his breathing all at once. The fresh cuts on his chest pricked briefly, allowing him to stay grounded. “I-I heard your voice. In the tunnel. You were gone. I heard you scream, I ran to find you-  
\- Darlin', darlin', I swear it wasn't me.” Jesse hushed him, cupping Hanzo's face. “I'll explain later okay? We can't stay here, we gotta move!” As several shrieks echoed from the corridor, the cowboy grabbed the archer by the hand. “C'mon!”

They ran as fast as they could, dodging pits, ponds and stalagmites. The swaying light of McCree's lantern pooled along the walls, cheating the eyes and making it seem like everything was moving all around them. Jesse's flesh hand was tightly squeezing Hanzo's moist one, keeping him anchored in present time.  
Eventually Hanzo took advantage of being guided to throw a glance above his shoulder. His heart almost leaping into his throat when he saw more than one creature scuttle along the floor, the yellow light of the lantern making their clammy skin glisten faintly . “Can’t we take on them?” He gasped, reaching for his bow.  
“Don't bother, that won't do much except makin' them angrier!” Jesse shouted, tugging on his hand to keep him going. Swearing under his breath, the archer refocused on running after the cowboy.

They had to stop when they reached another intersection. Only this time, it was not two, but four different paths offered to them. And there were no indications that could point them in the right direction.  
“Which one do we take?” Hanzo panted.  
“I don't remember that.” Jesse gulped, short of breath. “I usually relive havin' my arm taken away when I go through here, hurts too much to pay attention 'bout where I'm goin'!”  
For a second, they exchanged a completely clueless stare.  
“Forward?” Hanzo suggested, unsure.  
“Forward it is.” Jesse replied. Then they ran straight through the entry facing them, hoping it was the right way to go. There was no going back with these things tracking them down.

It ended up not being a wrong end, but it was most likely not the best out of the four.  
They stumbled into a most spacious hall that sheltered a small lake. Water dripped down from an opening in the high ceiling, disturbing the crystallized surface of the water.  
It had many cavities on the walls, some of them corridors. Whichever exit they chose, they would have to do some climbing in order to reach it. With no rope and a cowboy afraid of heights.

“Sonuva- that wasn't the right way!” McCree bit. They did not have the time to walk back, the livid crawlers hot on their tail.  
They ran to the most accessible exit, which was several meters above the ground nonetheless. Jesse rested the lantern by the foot of the wall, then he turned to face Hanzo. “Honey, climb up 'ere as fast as ya can.  
-What about you? I am not leaving you behind to face danger alone again!” The archer snapped back.  
Jesse grabbed his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “None o' that now! Ya’re a great shot an' you’ll have a better viewpoint from high ground. I'll keep these fuckers busy till ya get yer ass up 'ere, then I'll climb right after ya while ya can cover me up. Ain't no rickety bridge, so I should manage!”

Without further discussion, the cowboy swirled around. He unholstered Peacekeeper and gunned down the creatures that were already coming into the hall. The flash of each detonation briefly enlightened the beings contorting and scuttling along the walls, moving faster than it was humanly possible.  
Shaking off the paralyzing fear, Hanzo obliged; pumped on adrenaline, he hurriedly clambered his way up. The exit was only ten meters above the ground, which was four times smaller than the broken Plate, but the wall was far less stable and much rougher; in his haste, the archer opened his right palm on a sharp rock. The sting traveled all the way up to his elbow, nevertheless he kept going.

As soon as he had reached the top, the archer stood in the entrance of the dark corridor, hastily stripped of his sleeve and grabbed his bow. “Jesse! Come on up!” He shouted between two gunshots. Then he fired arrows after arrows at the hideous figures, ignoring the burn of the cuts on his chest and hand.  
McCree must have heard him over the row or seen the arrows raining down on the beings, for he stopped shooting. Shoving his fuming revolver back in its holder, he picked up the lantern, attached it to his belt then started climbing.

Being far less agile than the archer and still queasy with heights, his ascension was much slower.

Hanzo’s reflexes had never been this challenged in a long time. In fact this was far more difficult than the chase in the canyons, and he had been shooting at moving targets from a horse's back!  
The creatures were awfully thin, offering less surface to target than an average man, and they were ungodly fast and agile, their claws giving them an excellent grip on the rock.  
Too many times did they nearly reach the climbing cowboy, forcing Hanzo to take risky shots in order to keep his partner safe, and they would not stop _swarming_ into the hall, sometimes coming from different cavities. The archer could not even look back to make sure none were coming from the corridor behind him, and that made him feel extremely vulnerable.

A sudden yelp shifted his attention briefly; McCree’s hand had slipped from a blood-stained rock, leaving the cowboy hanging by a few metallic fingers.  
Panic was starting to flare anew and assault Hanzo’s brain, the archer's body now operating almost automatically. He wanted to stop firing and pull McCree to safety, but herds of creatures just kept on steaming into the hall. He could hardly keep up with the rhythm; this was far more straining than anything he had done before, any physical training, punishment or hardship he had endured in his life. These things were pushing him to his limits.

At this rate, he was going to make mistakes. And a single one was plenty enough to get Jesse killed.

He was so taken in maintaining the relentless cadence while his mind tussled with anguish, he did not notice the blue glow pulsing and swirling around his arm.  
McCree did however, the ethereal light reflecting in his wide eyes and giving his sweaty skin a weak gleam. “Han’.” He wheezed, trying to alert the archer.  
At the sound of the cowboy's voice and the expression he was making, Hanzo thought he was being approached on the side and followed McCree's eyes. He was stunned by the sight of his tattoo shimmering and the blue light circling around his arm.

That distraction could have been fatale, for a relapse in fired arrows would have given ample time for the creatures to reach their preys. Or at least that would have been the case, had McCree’s lantern been any sturdier.  
Instead the handle, thinned by years of use and rust and furthermore worn by the friction with the cowboy's metallic fingers, snapped cleanly.  
The lamp fell from the leather belt and shattered at the bottom of the wall, spilling its oil in a substantial puddle. The flame of the wick, no longer protected by the glass, ignited the flowing liquid almost immediately. A purple halo spread all over the puddle and orange flames burst out, causing the beings to jerk back in a frenzied flurry of pale limbs and panicked hisses.

Hanzo snapped out of his contemplation. He grabbed Jesse's extended hand and hauled him onto firm ground, his arm and wounded hand aching in protest.  
Angry growls resonated on the walls as the two men ran for their lives through the dark gallery.  
A turn revealed a wagon up ahead, sitting on rails at the top of a chute. “Hop in!” Jesse shouted breathlessly as they reached it.  
Hanzo did so without a second thought, while the cowboy kicked away the wooden wedges holding the wheels. He then pulled on a rusty lever right by the rails and jumped into the cart, his weight combined with Hanzo's making it budge enough to start rolling. Once it got onto the slope, it went down with increasing speed.

In the wobbly wagon, the two men were crammed together, the coal dust staining the inside rubbing off onto their clothes. Various shocks shook the cart, making their heads nearly collide together. Above them, the low ceiling was a blur.  
“Keep yer head down or you'll lose it to a beam!” Jesse wheezed, pulling Hanzo against him as he attempted to sit up.  
“Where is this even going?” The archer shouted, barely able to hear himself over the ruckus caused by the fast grinding of the wheels against the rails.  
“Anywhere away from ‘em an’ faster than on foot.” Jesse retorted, his voice breaking mid-sentence. “The fuck’s happenin’ to ya? I swear I saw ya shine like a freakin' Christmas tree back there!  
\- I don’t know! Is this really your primary concern when we are being chased by these disturbing creatures?” Hanzo snapped back, gripping his left bicep. The limb was hot and trembling, his tattoo still faintly glowing.

McCree reached out hesitantly, only to draw his hand back hastily when static electricity zapped his fingers. “Jesus Christ! Does it hurt?  
\- It burns but I will manage.” Hanzo winced. His right palm stung far more, the blood still not clotting. “Where are we heading to now? Do not tell me a ravine or I will throw you out!  
\- To a coal depot, that’ll get us closer to our friend.” McCree said before he took a peek outside of the cart, firmly holding his hat in place. Hanzo stayed down, massaging his sore arm and trying to contain whatever was happening along with the anguish still blaring in his head.  
He was accidentally smearing blood all over his arm, but he had no choice but to keep up; he could not afford a muscle cramp right now, if this was what was happening to his arm. Not now when danger was still hot on their trail. And whatever this blue light was about, he was not confident about it.

Something brushed his consciousness and he jerked, almost missing Jesse returning back at his side. “Uh darlin’? I thought these rails were okay but they got kinda screwed. Ya'd better hold onto somethin’ 'cause it's gonna get rough!  
\- There is nothing to hold on-!”  
The cart shook, brutally derailing from its tracks. Then it tilted over and skidded across the ground. Its two passengers were unceremoniously ejected, ramming into each other and rolling out onto the dusty ground. Hanzo barely had the time to brace himself before he was briefly crushed underneath Jesse.

Both of them hastily got back on their feet in spite of their rough landing and went back to running like mad, as the rabid creatures were not far. As fast as the wagon had gone, it had not deterred them from their hunt and the shooting in addition to the fire had most likely riled them up all the more.  
Hanzo had the lead this time, McCree considerably slower now. He was wheezing and limping, one hand clenching over his ribs. “Swear I'm cuttin' back on smokin' after this! I fuckin' swear!” He rasped as he tried to catch up on the archer.

They were going through a peculiarly dark area when the cowboy took a bad fall.  
Hanzo immediately halted and turned around, breathless; Jesse was struggling to get back up on his feet only to fall back with a pained yelp, holding onto his leg.

A white being leaped out of the darkness and landed above McCree. He rolled on his back and smacked it away with his prosthetic arm, then he looked at Hanzo. In spite of the lack of lightening, the archer could see the despair on his partner's face as clear as day.  
“Run ya fuckin' fool!” Jesse yelled.

And suddenly _they_ were all here, surrounding the defenseless cowboy and ready to lash onto him like famished wolves attacking a piece of meat. Unable to fight all of them off, Jesse curled in a defensive ball, screaming in fear.  
They were so many, Hanzo could barely see the cowboy through the pale bodies and spidery appendages.  
Anger washed over anxiety, blowing out the terror that had filled him at the sight of these monsters and the pain. There was nothing left but crackling furor. “Get off of him vermin!” He roared, firing another wave of arrows. But his efforts were meaningless; the more creatures he took down, the more rushed out of the dark depths. And Jesse was still shouting…

A monster came at Hanzo and he bashed it in the head with his bow, barely hearing the sickening cracking of the bone as he was solely focused onto the mass surrounding the cowboy.  
“Get back!” He screamed his voice hoarse while notching another arrow. His arm shone harder, the burning sensation spreading. It was now going from his heart to the tip of his fingers and it prickled, as if he had lightening under his skin.

Hanzo had just fired another arrow when Jesse stopped shouting. Over the rattling and the hisses of the creatures, he could no longer hear a sound from the cowboy, outside of the scream still reverberating endlessly in his head.  
Was he…?  
“Leave him be!” He implored out of desperation, his eyes stinging. Jesse could not be gone, he could not be-

Roaring wrath exploded in his chest, spreading like wildfire through his entire being and wiping off everything in its path, leaving him with nothing but a thirst for revenge. He violently seized an arrow from the quiver, almost quashing the fletching in his haste. He had not a single care for aiming anymore, all he wanted was to eradicate these things from the face of the earth.

Before he released the arrow, words flew out of his mouth almost naturally. He had no intent to say them, he had no idea why he would say them. And yet he did.  
“Ryū ga waga _teki wo kurau_!”

What he only knew from that point was that they caused a reaction beyond any belief.

The blue light surrounding his arm abruptly circled down to the arrow just as it slipped through his fingers, consuming it entirely. A powerful wave of energy shot through the air, bathing the corridor with an intense, electric blue glow that left barely any room for shadows. It was so bright, as if a star had appeared in the underground tunnel.  
Hanzo was blinded, having to squint in order to see what was going on.

Swirling around each other, two ethereal, magnificent dragons flew toward the mass of creatures. Their roars drowned out the cries of the creatures as they were torn apart by gapping maws, their bodies dissolving into particles.  
As the beings were swept away, Hanzo was able to see the cowboy once again. He was still curled in a ball, his serape flapping as it was whipped by the energy passing through him. His eyes were wide open, amber irises almost blue with the light reflecting in them. The only tell-tale sign that he was alive was his mouth, his lips silently moving.  
From the distance the archer could not tell what he was saying, but he could only imagine that it was a prayer or a swear.

The dragons kept going on their destructive course, flying after the fleeing survivors and leaving Hanzo and Jesse into near darkness. The cowboy slowly uncurled from his position, trembling and blinking in complete incomprehension.  
Hanzo stared back at him, just as thunderstruck. He could not get a single word out.

He was about to make a move toward Jesse when dizziness unexpectedly hit him hard.  
Hanzo staggered, breaking into a cold sweat as he tried to maintain his balance. His vision turned into spots and white noise filled his ears.  
The world spun around him and he fell to his knees. His entire body was trembling uncontrollably, devoid of any strength, and his mind flickered like a dying lightbulb.  
He was barely aware of the strong arms surrounding him and resting him against the floor.  
His vision came back for a brief moment, the corners growing dark; all he could see was McCree, who was standing above him and shaking his shoulders.  
“Darlin' what's wrong? Speak to me!'” The distressed cowboy cried. His voice seemed muffled to Hanzo's ears, as if his head was immersed underwater. “No no no, don't ya dare pass out on me! Stay alive, stay with me!” Jesse continued, giving his cheeks gentle taps. Or maybe they were harsher, the archer feeling numb from head to toes.  
He tried to speak, but only managed a faint gasp.

Before his consciousness could slip away, he had the time to acknowledge the shadow standing behind Jesse, approaching until it was practically looming over him. The cowboy seemed unaware, still shaking Hanzo and speaking to him.  
The archer tried to shout a warning, but only a weak sigh left his lips. He wanted to move, but nothing responded to the commands of his panicked brain.

His eyelids shut on their own and he blacked out. Everything, the ground, the cold air, Jesse's arms, his begging, all of it disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo _( ᐛ 」∠)＿  
> If you wanna yell at me, you know where my tumblr is, and if you don't have tumblr, there's the comment section below ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿  
> Lucid Dream will be back in December sooooo ٩( ᐛ` )و  
> Imma go nowbyebyetakecaresosorry ,,,;;;;ᕕʕ ᐛ ʔᕗ


	28. The Ghost of Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no ghosts in this chapter, but it is Christmas Eve indeed!  
>  ***WARNING* :** Panic attack, or at least attempt to describe one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all? I'm back from the hiatus ヾʕ๑❛ ᴥ ◠๑ʔ happy December, whether it's winter or summer for ya!
> 
> First of all thank y'all for your patience, your understanding, your sweet comments and your kudos ʕ⑅´͈ᴥ`͈ʔ৩ I come back refreshed, motivated and ready for ~~more cliffhangers~~ battle!
> 
> Now I must warn you of three things:  
> 1 - I might not be able to maintain the two weeks gap between updates after this chapter, because I have reached the middle of my fiction and the second half is still undergoing construction and I will need more time to write the chapters. But fear not, I'll keep y'all informed on tumblr and post art to make up for the wait ʕ^ᴥ^❀ʔ  
> 2 - I have been a little hasty with this chapter, especially toward the end, and did not have the time to spellcheck ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆ ;ʔ so you are more than welcome to notify me in the comments if you spot a mistake!  
> 3 - There are high levels of anxiety and a panic attack in there. While I have experienced a few of my own, they were not as traumatic. Thus I cannot say if I have managed to describe it accurately or not ʕ☍ᴥ°ʔ please keep that in mind as you read.
> 
> Voilà! [Now here is the link to the doodles I made for this new update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/168405047781/lucid-dream-the-ghost-of-christmas-update-howdy)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this new chapter╰ʕ⸝⸝⸝´ᴥ`⸝⸝⸝ʔ╯have a nice reading!

_Hanzo was lying on his back, unable to move his numb body or even twitch a single muscle. It was as if his head had been disconnected from his neck._  
_The only thing he felt was an overall soreness, plus a persistent ache drilling through his forehead. His eyes were closed, but he could perceive light moving and flashing above him. A flow of noises and voices was pouring in his ears, saturating his brain with information he could not process._

 _Someone started rubbing his sternum insistently, making him jolt. The numbness abruptly wore off and his nerves awakened, forcing a muffled gasp out of him; pain shot through his head, his ankle and his palms as the numbness wore off and his nerves awakened._  
_Then digits smelling of latex suddenly pried his lids open and a harsh light attacked his retina. He winced in response, the wound on his forehead hurting to the point he felt nauseous. If it were not for the neck brace holding his head still, he would have tried to jerk his face away from the gloved hand._  
_Neck brace?_  
_The light was removed from his eye and his surroundings became a little clearer; he was on a gurney, rolled through a corridor of some kind. The lights he had seen were neons flickering above him, and the voices belonged to four persons surrounding him, rushing by the gurney and hovering over him. Three were dressed in disposable clothing with one of them wearing a lab coat, and the latter wore an EMS uniform with ‘paramedic’ spelled in bold letters on their breast pocket._  
_Hanzo should have been alarmed to be paralyzed and vulnerable in the presence of strangers, but his mind was still too hazy to summon any sound thoughts._

 _“He's blinking. Sir? Can you hear me?” The doctor(?) asked._  
_“Where am I?” He muttered back, completely disoriented. How did he get here? What about- “Genji. Where's Genji?” He immediately added before a cough rendered him unable to speak. His throat was irritated and parched, as if he had been screaming for some time._  
_The woman addressing him frowned. “Sir I do not understand, do you speak English?” A light was directly shone in his eyes again by the paramedic. “Pupil response is sluggish.”_

 _English? Had he been speaking in Japanese without realizing it? He tried to focus through the fog that crippled his mind and the blaring headache, the effort increasing the nausea. “I-I do.” He muttered after swallowing to sooth his irritated throat. “Where am I? Where’s Genji?_  
_\- You are at the Mercy Hospital. You had a car accident, an ambulance brought you here. I am doctor Ziegler. Is Genji the young man who was with you? Green hair?”_

 _The probability of another person having the same ostentatious dye in the vicinity being extremely low, Hanzo nodded firmly. Or at least tried to with the neck brace impeding the movement. “Yes, h-he's my brother, I was driving him home.” His voice fell silent as he tried to lift the fog lingering on his brain._  
_The car. What had happened? Had he lost control of the vehicle? Was it a hit on their lives? He could not remember a thing and insisting made his head hurt furthermore. “Please, is he alright?” He groaned, closing his eyes to lessen the increasing migraine._  
_“We are trying to stabilize him. What is your name? Does it hurt when I press here?” Fingers pushed his shirt up and pressed against his abdomen._

 _Hanzo heaved with disgust, wanting nothing more than to tear the invading hands away. But his arms were heavy, helplessly glued to the gurney. “S-Shimada, Hanzo Shimada. And no, it does not hurt, please stop.” He weakly protested._  
_The hand was immediately withdrawn and he exhaled. Now that he was more and more awake, he was getting closer and closer to panicking. He truly could not remember how he ended up from the car to here; there was a blanc spot in between. “Where is Genji? I need to see him, I-I have to be with him, he's not safe-_  
_\- You need to stay down and hold still sir.” Doctor Ziegler cut. They were no longer in a corridor now, the gurney parked in a large room. The paramedic had disappeared. “Your ankle might be broken, you sport a severe head wound and we still need to make sure there are not more injuries or fractures that could put your life at risk. Now I must ask you, did you have a drink or take any substances before taking the wheel?”_  
_\- What? I don't-”_  
_He was interrupted by a young man barging in. “Angie we need you here!” He called, the urgency in his voice amplified by the dead tune of a flat line coming from the trauma room juxtaposing this one._

 _Perplexed, Hanzo glanced on the side, turning his head as much as the neck brace allowed him to._  
_Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another gurney with a man lying on it._  
_It was Genji._  
_He was barely recognizable, his green hair and face covered in blood. His clothes had been cut open. Every parcel of his skin exposed to the open air was littered with cuts and bloated burns. A tube connected to a balloon had been installed in his mouth, and a nurse was giving him a cardiac massage._  
_“Prepare a crash card and a shot of epinephrine!” Doctor Ziegler retorted, hurriedly disposing of her gloves and grabbing a new pair. “Do a tox screen on mister Shimada, make sure he…”_

 _The rest of her instructions, every sound in the room, all of it was drowned in white noise. All Hanzo could hear was the high-pitched, flat tune coming from the heart monitor. Something akin to a hurricane was tearing his guts apart._  
_Genji’s heart had stopped. He was dying._

 _'Angie' Ziegler rushed in the room, blocking the writer's view of Genji. A nurse rolled a defibrillator by his side, the device making a shrill sound as it was on standby._  
_When his little brother's body jerked against the table at the electric shock, Hanzo yelled. It was no longer a fog that obscured his mind, it was a raging thunderstorm._  
_All of the sudden he was able to move, making a wild attempt to sit up and leave the gurney. A nurse tried to hold him, their mouth moving without a sound coming out. Unless Hanzo had gone completely deaf._  
_He fought back, desperate. He had to rush to his brother’s side, he could not leave him in the hands of these strangers. If this was a botched attempt on their lives, a hit organized by whatever remained of the Shimada Gumi or a rival clan, he had to get to Genji and protect him no matter what. Maybe they had followed them here to finish the job-_

 _Beyond that point, everything was a blur. Several members of the staff teamed up to keep Hanzo on the gurney and calm him down. Still he fought back, screaming and pushing against the many hands that were shoving him down. Agony bloomed in his body, yet he kept on struggling._  
_Eventually stronger members of the hospital staff intervened and he was overcome, pinned as leather restraints were fastened around his wrists and ankles. Hanzo had no strength left within him, panting and blinded by tears. He was hurting horribly, both physically and mentally._  
_'This cannot be happening.' He kept thinking. 'This cannot be-'_  
_Someone rolled up his sleeve and inserted a needle in the nook of his arm. The sharp scratch was nothing in comparison to what he felt, but it still made him cry out. With the previous abuse on his vocal cords, his voice came out weak and pathetic._  
_Then the syringe was withdrawn and he suddenly slipped into oblivion, his mind void of any thought._

~

“No!”  
Hanzo came to startled, panicked to find himself in bed with the blank ceiling above him.  
As it was still dark, he clumsily reached for his phone and checked the time. His morning alarm was scheduled to ring in two hours from now, it was much too early to wake up. Why was he awake?

His question was answered by the sound of a crying baby coming from the flat right above his.  
Hanzo swore quietly, trying to regulate his breathing and tune out the wailing of the infant. He could not fall back asleep on command after such a brutal awakening, and even less with the muffled weeping filtering through the ceiling.  
It reminded him of Genji’s first years; more than once his baby brother had woken him up in the middle of the night. And since he would cry too loudly to be ignored, many times Hanzo had left his bed and gone to the cradle to comfort the noisy infant and tell him stories until he went back to sleep. There had been a few mornings his mother had found her first son nodding off on the carpet by the crib, while the second was fully awake and playing with his plushes.

Nowadays hearing crying children irritated him more than anything, but it still triggered a small knot of anxiety and worry in his core because it inevitably reminded him of Genji. And with the dream he had just now, it was definitely not a good start for the day.  
The dream.  
He could not leave at such a critical time, not when McCree's life was under threat! Why did it have to end on such a terrifying cliffhanger that would keep him on his toes the entire day?  
And these _things_ , these horrible things, what would they do to McCree? What were they?

An hour passed, during which the baby upstairs had been comforted, and yet Hanzo was still wide awake. He was too restless to fall back asleep.  
He had considered taking a quarter of a Benzo to see if he could go back to the Mine long enough to save Jesse, but it was too risky. Today was Monday; he could not mess up his schedule on the one day he needed to go outside and be on time. He had to remind himself that reality prioritized over his dreams, no matter how heartbreaking it felt to abandon his traveling companion to an uncertain fate.  
Besides, unreasonable drug use had doomed him once. He had learned his lesson the hard way, he was not going to take a chance with overmedication.

Panic was still weighing on his mind as he showered, the cold spray unable to appease his thoughts.  
His arrival at the hospital right after the accident was one of the few memories he had of that terrible night, but it was the first time he relived it in a while, in its fullest and not just loosely connected snippets.  
The writer forced himself to abandon that train of thought, for it would get him nowhere. It only contributed to the storm raging in his head and the guilt weighing on his shoulders.  
But when he tried to think of something else, his thoughts inevitably turned to Jesse. He should not have left the cowboy alone right here and now.  
Worst of all, he had lost consciousness. The few times he had, Jesse had been able to take him through a desert and carry him through the woods; time did not freeze during these periods, which meant the cowboy was still in the mine with an unconscious archer, at the mercy of a shadowy figure that could be anything.

What if he woke up to a dead body tonight? What if he did not wake up to anything whatsoever?

Writing the dream down took a tremendous effort out of Hanzo; he had to properly put into words the sheer discomfort and terror this mine had inflicted on him, and keep from constantly hitting the wrong keys because of his jerky typing.  
The sole consolation he had on this whole matter was that his journal was well-furnished now; Jesse McCree had the merit of making him write more than just a poem a week, after a long and undying block. But it failed to bring him any comfort in the face of the distressing eventuality that he might never see Jesse again.

“I treasure the hope that this is not the end, that there is still more to come. McCree has overtaken my daily life, showing himself to be such an interesting character with all kinds of facets… The possibility that this adventure ended last night so abruptly, and violently moreover, is gut-wrenching.” The writer added at the end of his entry.  
“I do not want him to die. I am afraid I will wake up next his mangled body in my next dream, or not dream at all. I cannot say which would be the worst.  
Whichever it is, I will not be ready. There is no amount of preparation that will help me deal with the loss of Jesse McCree.”

–

Hanzo remained tensed on the way to the city, his mind sluggish after this restless night and his feelings more unruly than ever. The anxiety would not quieten down, keeping on shouting questions he had no answer to. All he could come up with were dreadful scenarios that directly contributed to his turmoil.

He did not realize right away that the train he was on had stayed parked at the same station for several minutes instead of departing, until several persons around him started complaining and ranting about the lack of information. Curious, the writer left his seat, moved through the crowded cart with difficulties and stood by the opened doors, trying to get a glimpse of the information screens.  
Of all the listed trains, none of them had departure times; most of them were marked as delayed, including the one he was on.  
Just as he was starting to consider leaving to find a functional substitute, there was a short jingle followed by an announcement. “Due to a technical issue, this train is unable to pursue its course. All passengers are required to exit the compartments and use the alternate means at their disposal to reach their destination. We sincerely apologize for inconvenience.”  
Hanzo could not refrain from sighing heavily. It had to be expected with the current bad weather; the first winter storm of the month was raging since he had left the flat almost two hours ago. The harsh winds or the excessive amount of snow had most likely caused damages.

Thinking ahead of the despondent crowd behind him, he quickly left the wagon and went on his way to find the one tramway that would take him the closest to his destination.  
The station was peculiarly despicable; it was an underground maze with a lack of proper directions, constantly undergoing renovations. Between the rat infestations, the old lead paint on the walls, the asbestos found in the ceilings and other sanitary issues, there had not been a year without rehabilitation works.  
Since he knew his way around, Hanzo opted for a less frequented part of the station to dodge the flow of cranky passengers.

He was walking through an empty corridor when the lights suddenly went out, leaving him frozen in complete obscurity.  
He bit back a curse; the weather was most likely responsible of that blackout too. And judging by the panicked sounds and startle responses echoing from other corridors, the entire station was concerned.

If Hanzo wanted to get out of here, he had to find a light.  
His old cellphone was equipped with a flash LED, but it had died years ago. He had never thought about getting it fixed in the past because he had almost never used the camera, now he simply had no money to waste on such trivial things. As for the screen lightning, it was barely strong enough to serve as a reading light and even less adapted to explore a dark subway station.  
But in the pitch-black tunnel, it was his sole option.

Swallowing back the panic building on top of his boiling anxiety, Hanzo took the phone out and slowly made his way through. He really could not see much, outside of the faint gleam reflected by the sparse tiles decorating the walls and floor.

The light eventually turned off when the screensaver kicked in; in the darkness, with the cold air and the faraway sound of dripping humidity, the writer could almost visualize himself back the mine.  
“ _Anija!_ ”  
“Stop it.” He hissed to himself, pressing a button to bring back the light. Now was the worst time to have a panic attack.  
He had not taken three steps that the screen went out again. This time however his phone chimed with a soft beep, indicating that the battery was low on power. Then it simply turned off without as much as a notice.  
“Kuso!” He gasped, nearly breaking a fingernail as he jammed the button in a vain attempt to turn the phone back on. But it was no use, he had forgotten to reload it the day before and the cold had drained the tired batteries faster than usual.

And now he was paying the price of his forgetfulness, lost in a maze plunged into sheer darkness and unable to get around.  
Anxiousness mutated into pure anguish. He swayed, pressing a hand against the wall to maintain his balance.

He was very much alone, paralyzed, heartbeat peaking up drastically and eyes darting around. A drop fell on his head and he looked up at the ceiling. Was he back in the mine? He could not see a thing.  
He almost expected someone or something to jump on him anytime soon, so much so he wished he had not left Stormbow at the flat. Of course it would have been difficult to justify his carrying a bow, should he get stopped for an identity check by the authorities. But it would have at least given him a sense of security in the dark station.

“This is ridiculous.” He hissed to himself, before he indulged his fear and blindly searched in his bag until he dug out an old switchblade. It had been a long time since he last had to use it for such purposes, since assassins had stopped coming after his brother and him right after the fall of the clan.  
But he had kept it around just in case, both for utility and a slight sentimental value.  
The discreet click of the blade locking itself in place seemed overly loud, but it remained a comforting sound. He was no longer defenseless now, he could fight back.

With a firm grip on the handle, Hanzo waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. But without a single source of light, he might as well keep them closed, it would make no difference.  
Anxiety moved up another gear and he was quickly overwhelmed with sheer panic. He tried desperately to reason himself and keep it all under control, but his mind was running wild.  
‘If nightmares can bleed into dreams, what stops them from invading reality? How am I even sure I am awake right now?’ It made no sense, and yet he could not convince himself otherwise. It was not that ludicrous that he may be still asleep when he was more lucid in his dreams than when wide-awake.  
‘If arrows and bullets could not stop these things from swarming, how is a mere knife going to be of any help?’ It was better than nothing, might give him a moment’s relief to run.  
‘I need to get out of here _right now_.’ But he had no light whatsoever, and blindly walking in the maze was not going to lead him out. If anything, it might rush him to his death.  
‘Jesse.’  
He could picture him so clearly, more clearly than the beings crawling in the darkness of the tunnel. The cowboy lying on his back like an overturned turtle, his eyes once bright and colorful wide-open and devoid of any spark, fear still omnipresent on his blood-stained face, his lifeless body jerking as claws tore him apart and dug in his chest- 'Please leave him be!'  
_“- what you just said.”_  
_Can't speak._  
_“Hanzo?”_  
_Can't-_  
“Hello?”

The writer was so entangled in his own web that he failed to notice the corridor slowly enlightening as a light source approached. However, when a hand touched his shoulder, his trance was cut short.  
‘Fight or flee’ kicked in, fight winning the hand by a large margin.  
Hanzo swirled, lashing out with the blade. It hit nothing but air, the newcomer having jumped back out of his reach. He was faced with a square-ish light, so bright after adapting to the obscurity that it blinded him. Unable to assess the threat, he stepped back in panic.  
He was about to make a run for it when a voice boomed on the walls. “Fucking hell Hanzo! It’s me!”  
It was familiar, reaching him through the white noise his panicked haze had filled his ears with. It still took him a few seconds to put a name on it. “Reyes?” He whispered, his voice coming out raspy.

“No it’s Santa. Of course it’s me! I announced myself, didn’t you hear me? It’s dark as an oven in here, but last time I checked ears and eyes are not affected the same!” Gabriel Reyes-Morrison lowered his phone, his anger vanishing as he took in Hanzo’s state. “Are you okay? Did someone attack you?”  
The writer shook his head, struggling for air. He felt immensely relieved to see the man down here, utterly silly for having a panic attack and mortified that one of his employers and remaining friends was witnessing it. “No one, I-I fooled myself. I’m so sorry.” He uttered breathlessly.

As he was starting to feel faint, Gabriel carefully walked to him and removed the switchblade from his clammy fingers. Then he cupped his shoulder and made him crouch, kneeling by his side to pat his back. “Slow down pendejo, you're on the brink of hyperventilation and I don’t have any paper bags on me.”  
As hard as it was, Hanzo obliged. They stayed like this for a few minutes, Gabriel keeping a hand on his back and berating both public transportations and storms. The touch and the chatter were anchor points on which the writer focused the entire time he took to regulate his breathing.  
Several people went past them, also using their phones to enlighten the way. Any onlooker who tried to enquire about Hanzo's state was chased away by his editor's legendary death glares and snarky quips.

“Better now? Do you need a trip to the hospital?” Gabriel asked once Hanzo was able to inhale without exhaling the second after.  
“No, absolutely not. I-I just got lost and panicked, that is all. I will be better once I am out of here.” He whispered back as he awkwardly stood, dusting the back of his pants. Those were definitely going to visit the washing machine tonight.  
“Tell me about it, this place is about as welcoming as a tombstone.” The editor followed him, courteously taking his bag off his shoulder. “Let me carry that for you, we’re going out of this pit together. Do you think you can hold my phone up and light the way?” He said, handing over the device before Hanzo could protest.  
The writer sighed, then he nodded and took the phone in his cold hand. Slight tremors still shook his fingers, but he was able to maintain a firm grip on the apparatus.

The two of them made their way through the dark station, Gabriel carrying their bags and Hanzo concentrating on enlightening the corridor. His editor followed him closely through the corridors, whispering constantly to him. “Outside we should be able to grab a cab together, it'll be faster than the bus. If it's just an electrical shortage. They'll fix it surely.”  
The writer listened more or less, but he was secretly grateful for the chatter. It kept him distracted.  
They were joined by other people just as lost as they were and soon they came across rail safety officers armed to the teeth with actual flashlights.  
From what Hanzo understood over the noise of the growing crowd, there had been a flood in one of the entrances of the station because of a busted pipe. It had been bad enough to cause an electrical shortage and the backup generators had failed to kick in, leaving the entire station in the dark.

They were evacuated out of the underground within minutes. Hanzo had never been so relieved to be back outside, in spite of the freezing winter wind and the snow whipping his face.  
As for Gabriel, he signed at a cab and pulled the writer in with him. Once they were seated, he handed him his bag back along with the switchblade. “How are you now?  
\- I think it is over. I am terribly sorry for swinging at you, I could have…” He did not dare finish his sentence in the presence of the cab driver, but his editor waved it off.  
“You may be fast, but I'm faster.” He smirked cockily, before pursuing on a more serious tone. “What happened at the station though? I mean, electrical shortages aren't one bit fun. But I know a panic attack when I see one. You didn't react when I called you and when you did notice me, you looked like you didn’t know where you were and who I was.  
\- I was merely surprised by the shortage. My mind went ahead of me.” Hanzo offered a weak smile.

As Gabriel threw him an unconvinced stare, the writer sighed and looked out the window. Should he even bring up the dreams and Jesse? His entire being repelled the very idea of mentioning them to anyone now that they meant so much to him.  
Since he did not have the strength to lie, he decided to go for a half-truth instead. “I recalled my admission into the ER.” He muttered, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I only remembered bits of it until this morning. Do you remember when you and Jack came over, and found out the staff had called the police because I showed “suspicious and excessively aggressive behavior”?  
\- I sure remember, I was pretty fucking pissed they treated you like that. What of it?  
\- They were not in the wrong.”  
An awkward silence followed his admission, so he elaborated. “I woke up confused and convinced the accident was not one, and seeing Genji so… It was a shock for me, I was not in the right mind-  
\- Hanzo, you don't have to explain yourself.” Gabriel interjected, his dark eyes scrutinizing the writer's. “You do not have to explain yourself. I met my husband on the field, almost lost him a few times. I don't have to imagine, because I _know_ what it feels like to see someone so dear in such a state. Whether it's a significant other or a family member, it can't be that different.”

The writer gulped discreetly. It was no secret that Jack and Gabriel shared a military background, but it never went beyond that. They had never spoken about the things they had seen, either because it was classified or they simply did not want to relive it. The scars on their faces and the white hair hidden in their locks were telling enough of the hardships they had endured.

Another silence settled between the two of them, until Hanzo felt the necessity to start a conversation. “What were you doing in the station? Do you not usually go to work with your husband by car?  
\- Ah, we had a little problem to sort this morning, but I decided to deal with it on my own. Jack went to the office with the car and I took the transports.” Gabriel huffed, adjusting the scarf around his neck. It was so tacky it was almost painful to look at, screaming Christmas with its reindeers and snowmen pattern. “Of fucking course it had to be on the same day that fucking winter storm decided to poke its nose on the region. But I was the one who told Jack we should share a car rather than own two when we decided to live together, so really I can only blame myself. And the shit weather.”  
On any other day, Hanzo would have found the answer surprisingly vague, elusive even. But he was too shaken to think any of it and press further. Besides it was all personal matters.

“Hey Hanzo, about the New Year party, did anyone mention anything to you?” Gabriel asked after a third angel passed by.  
“Lena briefly did the last time I saw her, but she did not say much about it.  
\- Well it's going to be at our place for a change. It’s been a while since you last came over, but it didn't change that much. And it'll just be a small crowd, with our closest friends and their spouses, plus a couple relatives of mine. Does that sound like something you can handle?”  
It did sound reasonable, but reasonable could still amount to a significant number of people for a depressed recluse. Gabriel and Jack's house was rather big though; he should not feel cramped even with that many people in his direct proximity. Moreover he should know most of them, so that could be doable.

“I should be fine. Dress code?” He muttered to deflect the attention from his discomfort.  
“None of that. You dress the way you want. Heck you could show up in your pajamas, I don't give a damn.”  
So a suit jacket at least, because there was no way he would show at any sort of event without looking presentable. Convivial gatherings were not an exception.  
He had sold his collection of suits to pay Genji's hospital bills, but he still had one left. It was the cheapest he had ever owned and it still fitted, even though he used to wear it back in the days he had to go through job interviews.

“Should I bring anything? Food, drinks?” He asked nonchalantly, even though his stomach was in knots at the idea he would have to buy something of redeemable quality. He barely had any money left for the month and there would be the extra rent on top of everything else-  
“Nah. Jake and I will take care of everything, and you can bet some of the others will bring something anyway. Nobody listens to us.” Gabriel shrugged.  
“I understand. I trust in your capability as a host.” Hanzo dismissed, while his fresh concern flew out the window. He would have been ready to starve himself in order to afford anything more expensive than his usual groceries, just to avoid seeming rude.

He was so relieved, he almost missed his editor's talking to him.  
“It's alright though, if you'd rather not come. It's been a while since the whole gang got together you know? Plus I think it'd be nice for you to be with us, rather than alone and miserable in your mousetrap of a flat… It'd do you some good.”  
Offering Hanzo a back door to an invitation he found impossible to refuse after attempting to reassure him; as brash as he was, Gabriel Morrison-Reyes had a caring streak just like his husband.  
Hanzo did not know what to say. He surely did not take offense over the mousetrap comment, his apartment was indeed quite small and subpar. And it would surely feel nice to be somewhere else for the New Year, surrounded by people who meant well.  
On the other hand, he was unsure he would be able to stand the celebration. Worse, he was afraid he would make a scene. Declining the invitation was the only option with zero risk.

His hesitation must have shown, for Gabriel slightly leaned over and muttered in a secretive tone: “If you do make it though, there's someone I'd like to introduce you to. The main attraction of the evening I'd say, and a big fan of yours.  
\- Who would that be?” Hanzo asked. He would castigate himself for being insatiably curious later.  
Gabriel smirked, his mustache slightly shifting along. “I'm not telling you. You will have to come and see for yourself.  
\- Ah, I see. Such cheap baiting.” The writer scoffed, barely refraining from rolling his eyes.  
His editor's sly smile only got wider. “You know me better than that. It's high quality baiting.”  
Hanzo paused thoughtfully. A big fan? Could it be that mysterious fan mailing him? Or was it a coincidence? He could not imagine Gabriel sharing his address to someone he had never met, the editor knew better than anyone about his trust issues and was quite protective.  
But why all this mystery surrounding one person then? Maybe they were of importance, or special. Unless… “Are you setting me up for a date?” He tested, studying Gabriel's reaction. It seemed absurd that the couple would plot such a thing, and for _him_ of all people, but he had to make sure.

He almost guffawed when Gabriel had the guts to mimic surprise. “Me? Absolutely not. But hey, who knows? Maybe you two will just click together and share a peck at midnight.  
\- You honestly think such a thing could happen? With _me_ on the equation?  
\- You two have a lot in common so yeah, why the hell not? But if it turns out I'm wrong, I'll buy you dinner for a month to make it right.  
\- I do not think your husband will appreciate your taking me out for dinner.” Hanzo retorted with a small laugh.  
“Please, he'll be invited too. You're like a son to us and he keeps complaining that seeing you once a week is not enough. And to be fair, I share the same feeling.”

Hanzo was speechless for a moment, touched by this revelation. “You honor me.” He finally whispered.  
Gabriel slapped his back a little too hard. “Cheer up! It's that time of the year when people get disgustingly cheery, and it's technically your last work day before two weeks of vacation!  
\- Ah, right.” He had not seen the time fly with the dreams. But vacations always amounted to days spent wondering if he should sulk or try to write something.  
Hopefully he would be dreaming of a certain cowboy... Hopefully.  
Gabriel’s smirk turned into a frown. “You don't have anything planned, do you?  
\- I do not, but I will be fine.” Hanzo hummed, facing away from his editor to stare out the window. “I will get by.”

–

The moment they parked in front of Overwatch Editions, Gabriel's phone started ringing. “Ah shit, I forgot to text Jack. He must be freaking out.” He grumbled, hastily fishing for the device in his coat pockets and tossing it at Hanzo. “Take it for me will you, I'll pay for the ride.”  
The writer blinked at his editor's back, then he awkwardly obliged. “Mister Morrison-Reyes? It’s Hanzo Shimada.” He said in the speaker before Jack could start talking.  
“Hanzo? Why do you have Gabriel's phone?” The blond replied, the confusion in his tone quickly melting into worry. “Did something happen?  
\- Everything is alright, we were both delayed by a power shortage and got down at the same station.  
\- Oh that's why! I was getting worried with this awful weather. Where are you two at now?  
\- We have just arrived, your husband is paying the-” He stopped as the line abruptly went out. He looked at the screen; Jack had ended the call.  
“He hung up on me.” He told Gabriel as his editor was done paying.  
“He did? Oh hell, he's probably preparing an ambush in the hall. We'd better not keep him waiting.”

They had barely set a foot in the warm building that Jack came running at them. “Gabriel!” He exhaled, practically crashing into his husband and hugging him with so much strength a fickler person would have been crushed into flakes. “I should have gone with you, I'm sorry...  
\- Hey mi sol, chill out. No one died.” Gabriel spoke softly. He dropped a peck on the Jack's nose, then released him.“I've got some news.” He then told Jack on a somewhat mysterious tone.  
“You do? What are they?  
\- Good. The news are good.” Gabriel simply replied with a wider smile. Jack grinned back, then kissed his husband on the mouth.

It was only when they pulled back to breathe that the blond noticed Hanzo. He was standing aside, a little curious about the 'good news' but far too polite to ask. It was not his business.  
“Hello Hanzo, sorry for hanging up at your nose.” Jack smiled, tilting his head in embarrassment. “I hope I was not too rude.  
\- It is fine. You were concerned and I was not exactly the one you were trying to reach.” Hanzo hummed.  
“Let's not stay in the hall. I have some fresh coffee ready upstairs and there's hot water for tea lovers.” The blond grinned.  
Gabriel let out a relieved sigh. “Bless you boy scout. Don't mind if I drink the whole pot.”

-

After fixing himself a nice cup of warm tea, Hanzo handed over the revisited Forest poem to his editors. After last Monday's little mishap, he was quite gratified to see them all the more pleased by his work.  
For the occasion, they introduced him to the artist who had been appointed to illustrate his text. It was their newest recruit, a woman called Satya Vaswani who went from architecture to graphic design. Hanzo immediately appreciated the professionalism that transpired from her guarded coldness, not to mention the beautiful geometry and astounding symmetry of her artwork. He had never seen anything quite like it before and it was a refreshing addition to the team.

As he was about to leave for his medical checkup, Jack followed him outside of the office and handed him a bag. “The package is a Christmas gift for Genji, from all of us.” He explained. “The cake is for you. It's a sponge cake with strawberries from our favorite bakery, nothing too heavy. I hope you'll like it.”

On the four years that had followed the accident, the team had never failed to buy presents for Genji on his birthday and Christmas.  
Hanzo had not, because there was no point in giving someone gifts when they were not aware to enjoy it, and he had dedicated his entire budget to his brother's recovery. While it was a reasonable way of thinking, it did not make the guilt weighing him down any lighter.  
Since he could not tell his friends to stop offering Genji things, he had made it explicitly clear that he did not want anything for himself. He would conveniently forget to celebrate his own birthday, and he was used to spending most of his Christmases alone.  
However there was a loophole his friends had discovered rapidly; he could not say no to food. So every time a celebration came up, they would give him a cake, either homemade or from a bakery.

With a contrite smile on his lips and a lump in the throat, Hanzo accepted the bag and bowed his head. He thanked his editor sincerely for his generosity, but his heart sunk furthermore in his chest. Charity from others was still so hard to stomach, he could not accept all this kindness without feeling required to pay it back one day. He already owed much to his remaining friends, any small favors or benevolent gestures made the bill all the more steeper.

–

“How have you been? Did you have a good week?” Ana asked with a kind smile over a cup of tea.  
Hanzo took a few seconds to reply, eyes glazing over the ornaments decorating the cabinet. He had had a great week, until Sunday night. Then there had been the panic attack in the subway. Should he even approach that?  
“Yes.” He finally answered, detaching his eyes from a house-shaped luminaire to stare back at the doctor. “I have been feeling better lately.  
\- Have you regained appetite?  
\- A little. I have been in a passably good mood. But...  
\- But?  
\- You have prescribed me enough pills to last until mid-January. Once I will have used them all, what then? Will you renew my prescription?” Hanzo asked as nonchalantly as he could, careful not to let any hint of worry transpire.

Ana carefully rested her tea and joined her hands on her desk. “No, there is a maximum duration of Benzodiazepine prescription.” She answered, her tone a little more stern than usual. “Extending your treatment beyond January would be reckless. As I explained during our discussion on this topic, the risk of developing a dependence and a tolerance to this medication is high. The last thing you need on top of your personal problems is an addiction to cope with. You may finish the box until you run out of them as long as you do not experience any side effects, and that will be the end of it.  
\- What happens after that?  
\- You will have to go through a period with no treatment whatsoever in case you are subject to withdrawal. Afterwards we can discuss on an alternative treatment should your sleep still be troubled, or a different approach of the problem if you are open to treating your depression.” Hanzo found keeping his body posture and face slack very difficult as anxiety came back in whiffs. After this morning's crisis, he did not have that much energy left to maintain appearances. He had never doubted the fact he could not stay under medication forever. He was still aware of the risks, Ana's briefing on the treatment had been very thorough.  
But it all did little to quell the dread swarming his gut. What if the insomnia and the nightmares came back the moment he stopped? Would he still dream? Would he sleep at all?  
What about Jesse?

All he could do was nodding slowly and muttering a vague “I understand”, stoic despite the anxious knot coiling in his stomach. Over the dread of falling back into his vicious routine, there was the sheer fear of losing Jesse McCree forever, if he had not already lost him to the creatures of the mine.

–

After this appointment, Hanzo spent the time usually dedicated to Zenyatta's sessions in a park by the railway station, sitting on the sole bench that was not missing boards and absently watching the trains come and go. Snow was still falling, but at a much gentler pace than this morning.  
His mind was once again full of questions to which he had no answer to. What would happen to Jesse if the dreams were disrupted for more than a day? Would they stop at once or pick up back where they left off without a hitch?  
Supposing he got better over time, would he ever dream of the cowboy and the land again? If not, then what would he do? Would he be capable of imagining the rest of their journey when the cowboy had been a completely unpredictable character?  
On top of that, he still had to wait for tonight to see if Jesse would still be alive...

Hanzo buried his nose in his scarf, trying to quieten the storm in his head. He could not anticipate any of these situations; thinking about them was of no use, except triggering another panic attack. And two of these in the span of one day could only be catastrophic for his mental health. But really, what else could he do?  
“What will be, will be.” He muttered to himself. Whatever happened, he would do with it.  
Maybe he could try cutting back on the pills. Since he had lost weight, maybe taking half of the daily dosage would suffice. And since he was not even sure that anything would happen tonight, he could start trying right then.

Returning home made him feel barely better. There were Christmas reminders all over the place. Even in the suburb where decorations were nonexistent in the streets, there were lights, garlands and Santas hanging from almost every balcony of the many residential buildings.  
If one overlooked the plainly ridiculous ones, all these ornaments made up for the darkening days.

With this holiday spirit impossible to miss, it reminded Hanzo that Genji would be alone in the hospital.  
He may not celebrate Christmas, but that did not mean his sole relative should spend it alone. While he had not thought much of it the years prior, it now bothered him deeply.  
Maybe for this one time he could be by his side. Sure it would most likely be an uncomfortable night, supposing he was even allowed in the hospital and not kicked out after an hour or two. But he had to try.

Determined, he left the bench and rushed to the station in order to catch the incoming train.

As soon as he was back home he jumped in the shower, then prepared himself a small tupperware of rice. It would sadly be plain, since he had run out of condiments and leftovers recently, but it would do for a dinner tonight.  
At least the strawberry sponge cake would bring a nice touch to it.

–

Night had already fallen by the time Hanzo arrived at the hospital.

His plan was to sneak in as discreetly as possible in the service where his brother's room was and avoid the staff. Considering his outburst had most likely labeled him as unwanted visitor, it was preferable not to be detected.  
Thankfully he had been there so many times he knew how to get around, and stealth was one of the few skills that had stuck with him long after his departure from Hanamura.

He managed his way around smoothly, until he was exiting a closet-sized service elevator and bumped into someone.  
“Ah, apologies.” He quickly said without a glimpse at the person. But a hand gently held his arm and a startled smile caught his eye.  
The man he had run into was a familiar face, and not the one he had been dreading to meet. Dark-skinned and bright-eyed, shorter than him by a few centimeters and making up for it with remarkable dreadlocks.  
“Mister Shimada! Long time no see!” The young man beamed, catching his half-raised hand and shaking it.

Hanzo stayed stunned, hoping for a name to resurface from his memories. But nothing came, so he hesitantly shook back. “I apologize. I remember you, but your name evades me.  
\- Lúcio Correia dos Santos, at your service. And it's fine, we have not seen each other since my internship. That was what, a few years ago?  
\- Four. You work here now? I have been here several times and I do not recall ever seeing you.  
\- Well I do the night shift, I am usually not here before 8 PM. But yeah I've been working here since the end of my internship! I'm currently doing a research on the beneficial effects of certain frequencies on the brain and Angela took me under her wing for the project.” Lúcio explained as they headed toward Genji's room.

While Hanzo's stealth was widely compromised, being in the presence of a friendly staff member gave him less qualms about being seen. “It sounds… Interesting. But do you actually conduct experiment on patients here?” He inquired warily.  
“Oh no, none of that!” The young man waved. “I am still in the early stages of my study. And when I'll get there, don't you worry, we'll ask for permissions. I can imagine you would rather not have me playing bass in Genji's room.  
\- I would not indeed.” Hanzo scoffed, before adding thoughtfully: “Unless you manage to demonstrate its efficiency and safety, in which case I could be open to such an offer.  
\- You would? I'll keep you updated then. But enough about me. How are you doing mister Shimada?  
\- I get by.” He affirmed after a small pause, pulling on the strap of his bag.

When they arrived before the door of Genji's room, Hanzo knew he could not dodge the elephant in the room. “Listen, Mister Correia dos Santos-  
\- Please call me Lúcio.  
\- Alright. Lúcio, I actually came here in the hope I could spend the night here, so Genji would have some company tonight. I am aware we are outside of visiting hours and you probably realized when I came out of a service elevator that I was trying to be discreet.  
\- Yeah it kinda hit me afterward.” Lúcio confessed sheepishly. “Look, Mister Shimada, I normally should not allow you to do that. But you know, I understand. You're his only family and he's all you have. Supposing I do allow you to stay here, you'll have to sleep in a chair 'cause we're short on beds. But I can-could lend you a blanket and a pillow to make your stay less uncomfortable. Would that sound alright?  
\- It would not be an issue and I would be very much grateful. But would not doctor Mercy disapprove of your lenience?  
\- Well, since you two are not exactly on good terms at the moment, she probably would not be keen to your spending the night here.” The young man awkwardly chuckled, while Hanzo slightly raised a brow. That was the understatement of the year.

He was prepared to leave when Lúcio suddenly spoke. “ _But_ it should be fine as long as you leave before her shift begins. I can come by and wake you up when it's time to go. Does that sound like a good plan to you?”  
Hanzo allowed himself to look surprise; he had honestly not expected that turn of events. “It suits me.” He finally muttered. “Thank you.  
\- No problem. I hope you grabbed a bite 'cause the sandwiches are not that good and the only places opened at this hour are unsavory take-outs.  
\- I have come with a meal, do not worry about me. May I go see my brother now?  
\- Of course! I just have a few things to finish, then I'll come by to bring you the goods. See you later!” Lúcio grinned, before he headed off to the elevator.

Hanzo silently stared at the younger man until he was out of sight, plainly amazed that he was still as kind as he was when they had first met and that he was willing to do him a favor after hearing of his fallout with a fellow doctor.  
Then aware that he was conspicuously standing in the corridor, he promptly opened the door to Genji's room and snuck inside.

“Sorry for the intrusion.” Hanzo softly said as he stepped toward his brother's bed.  
Sometime between his last visit and now, new bouquets of flowers had replaced the old ones and a cactus proudly sat on the bedside table. Of all the things people had brought for Genji, this one was oddly enough the most charming; it was a chubby little thing with round buds and a flower on top, and it immediately made him think of Jesse.  
For a second, Hanzo considered moving it to the windowsill with the other plants, where it would be less inclined to being knocked over or touched by careless hands. But he decided to leave it there instead, after pushing it a little further away from the borders of the table for its safety.

He then sat down on his usual chair and took the tupperware out of his bag, plus the box holding the cake. He had not eaten much for lunch and his stomach was starting to remind him of that.  
“I hope you do not mind if I eat by your side.” He whispered awkwardly to Genji. Even when he felt in the mood to speak to his unconscious brother, the one-sided conversation still made the hole in his chest much wider.

“Itadakimasu.” He muttered before starting his light meal.  
The rice was lukewarm and the cake had been a little squashed during transportation, but the food was nonetheless good. The pastry was especially delicious, the cream light with just the right amount of sugar. It had been some time since Hanzo had eaten something this refined and he savored every bite.

He briefly left to wash his hands and teeth in the man's room, then he returned to his brother's side. “Jack and Gabriel got you something again.” He said as he fished the package out of the bag. “First the book now this. Even now you are still spoiled.”  
That last comment had slipped out almost naturally and he bit his tongue to admonish himself. It was true that his little brother had had it easier than he did for a long time, but saying this as he lied there barely alive was terribly insensitive and cruel.  
Dearly hoping Genji had not heard that somehow, Hanzo silently opened the present to check the content.  
He had to smother a chuckle; inside the package was a small Pachimari plush, the Christmas edition with a little hat and tentacles the color of sugar canes. It was perfect; his little brother had never hidden his love for childish things, and the mascot was one of them. Hanzo had no doubt he would absolutely adore it.

As he sealed the package and stored it in the cabinet with all the other presents, a thought suddenly came to him.  
“You know that I have loved you from the first time I held you?” He spoke up, his voice hesitant at first then slightly firmer once he had regained some confidence. “You probably do not remember it. I was just three years old when Mother told me she was expecting a baby. At first I did not know what to think! Sometimes I was very eager to meet you because there were no other children in the estate and I felt quite alone. And on some other times I simply dreaded your birth, for I would have to share the little attention our parents gave me with someone else… Foolish thought of a child obviously, I was simply jealous and fearful. But they had so little private time that did not converge with clan business…  
I had set my mind on hating you the month Mother gave birth. I still did when Father brought me to her room so I would see you. She was awfully tired and yet had the strength to hold you in her arms, while you were screaming at the top of your lungs. That only made me all the more repelled.”

He chuckled faintly as he recalled this moment; he had been horrified to see the wrinkled baby and think he had been like this too at his birth.  
“But the moment she handed you over to me and you stopped yammering to stare back at me, I felt something, a raw emotion I cannot quite describe, something visceral that washed away all the repulsion I had for you… It was like being given something I yearned for without knowing it. I suppose that it just hit me that I had become a big brother and I was… Happy to have you.  
You started bawling again a few seconds later because I could not hold you properly, but it did not change the way I felt on that point.”

Hanzo took one of Genji's hands and looked past the scars, feeling the remains of callous left by hours of sketching and that one trace left by an unfortunate mishandling of an X-Acto knife. “It is funny how the most striking thing about a baby is their size. I distinctly remember your tiny hand clutching my fingers. I was still small at three, but you were just so minuscule… Ah, I am not old enough to start rambling. And you could never stand all of that mushiness.” He chuckled weakly, eyes automatically searching for the faintest sign of awareness.  
As usual, he found none.  
“I never told you, so you probably have no idea that I have always loved you, even when we both screamed at each other in our worst fights… Why didn't I ever tell you? I should have when you could still listen, or at least hear me.” His heart ached, but the warmth filling his chest at the reminiscence counterbalanced the sadness in a bitter-sweet combo. “There are so many things I should have said. But a man is not supposed to portray his feelings like you did so freely. I was supposed to remain on guard and cold at all times, I had to put duties and honor above all else. Even after we left our home and our clan, this mask, this survival reflex stuck with me. It caused us to grow distant.  
But after the-… after you fell into a coma, I realized how much I got used to having you around, how comfortable and safe it made me feel. With your being so open and expressive, I did not have to reach out to others. When they were things I did not dare voice out-loud, you would without a second thought. Back when we had almost nothing, you were my best motivation not to crawl back home. When you were there, even when you did everything to anger me, I was glad to see you alive and proud of my decisions.  
I did believe I would be better off without you once you would have become more independent and moved to your own place, but… I was so gravely mistaken.  
Now there is only a large void in my life, and I find harder and harder to keep on going...”

His voice weakened and he had to pause, coddling Genji's hand. “I am sorry Otōto, I am so sorry. If I could take your place, I would do it without a second thought.” He added in a whisper.  
As emotions threatened to overwhelm him, he pressed his forehead against the bed, Genji's hand still in his own.

At some point a discreet knock made him look up; Lúcio was by the door, a rolled-up blanket and a pillow under his arms. “Sorry for interrupting, I'm just dropping this and I'll go.” He said with an apologetic smile.  
“Not at all, you are too kind. Thank you for your generosity.” Hanzo nodded, quickly standing to relieve the young man of his bundle.  
“I checked the schedule; Genji was already taken care of earlier this afternoon, so you won't be disturbed tonight. I will come by to wake you at the end of my shift, as I am officially responsible of your wellbeing here. Off the record, it's 'before Angela arrives and finds out you came outside of visiting hours'.” Lúcio winked.

As Hanzo rested the blanket over his chair, Lúcio spoke up: “Pardon me for prying, but I distinctly remember your claiming you didn't believe your brother could hear or feel you. What changed your mind?  
\- While they are no proofs that he is aware of anything around him, there are also none that he is not.” Hanzo replied, meticulously flattening the wrinkles of the sheets covering his brother.  
He expected Lúcio to excuse himself out and was surprised when the young man spoke up again: “I am sorry that Dr. Ziegler and you got into an argument. She is absolutely dedicated to all of her patients and has never lost faith in your brother. I uhm, I hope you're not going to move Genji out of this hospital.”  
Hanzo looked up and observed Lúcio's face ; he found no signs of judgement, only an honest concern.  
“No, I absolutely won't. The last time I-I spoke out of anger and meant none of what I said. It is out of the question to move Genji. Even if…” Even if Genji's condition had shown no improvement in years and Hanzo was hanging on by his fingernails. “This place is his best and only option.”

Lúcio stared back at him silently, then he lowered his eyes. “I am sorry for doubting you.  
\- No offense taken. In fact you have done a lot for me tonight and I am very grateful. If there is anything I can do to repay you-”  
The young man cut him off with a wave. “Nope, none of that sir, you owe me nothing. If you really wanna do something, then just keep your chin up and try not to get into more fights with the staff yeah? I know you care tons about your brother and what happened to him affected you too, but... No more fights. Oh and I hope you'll be writing again someday.”

That immediately made the writer tilt and he could not help but ask: “I… I have received fan mail recently, anonymous fan mail. Was it you by any chance?” That would be quite the strike of luck if it was the case…  
But Lúcio's eyes going wide answered his question before he could even reply. “Me? Oh no, I have not. After your editors expressed your wish to be left alone, I sent one support message and that was it. I never tried to contact you otherwise.  
\- I see.” Hanzo muttered. Deep down he was disappointed not to have found his mysterious fan. But on the other hand, maybe they were not even in the same area. Maybe they lived abroad...  
At least he had met another fan just as pleasant and understanding. “You actually read my work When you recognized me at our unfortunate first meeting, I thought you had seen me on a talk-show.  
\- I do read your stuff! Especially your thrillers, you've got a neat way round them. 'Origami-shaped bird', 'The wolf's pelt', 'Red Lotus'... I still look forward to your next book whichever genre you pick though.”

Once Lúcio had left the room, Hanzo fished the box of benzodiazepines out of his bag. He still had a certain amount of pills to go through; if he started cutting them in half now and it sufficed to sleep a full night, then he should be able to enjoy the dreams for a longer while.  
Of course there was the risk it would not be enough. But if he did dream of finding Jesse's corpse, then a shorter sleep would be for the best.

“I hope it is alright if I sleep here for the night.” He told Genji as he arranged the chair moved the chair closer to the wall. “Even if you are not aware of my presence, I should not let you spend this evening on your own.”  
Sleeping on a chair was not something completely unusual to him; he had spent many nights by Genji's side in the first months that had followed the accident.  
While the blanket and the pillow were cozy, the position was rather uncomfortable. Hopefully his scarf would be enough to protect his neck from torticollis.

Still the medication led him into slumber and the sound of the machines keeping Genji alive gradually fading away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does not count as a cliffhanger right? ᕦ( ᐕ )ᕡ  
> Will Jesse be back tho? You will find out in next update! Same bear time, same bear site ʕ❀◕ᴥ˂̵ʔ


	29. A Visitor in the evening, Hope.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question that everybody had no answer to is finally answered.  
> Or at least one of the questions. Or a few.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A new chapter? On Saturday? ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆ ʔ
> 
> Howdy y'all! Happy end of the year ʕˊॢo̴̶̷̤ᴥo̴̶̷̤ˋॢʔ I hope you're having a good time with your holidays! If not, I hope you'll pull through and look up for a hopefully better year than the previous one!
> 
> Thanks a million to all of you for your kudos and comments ʕº̩̩́ᴥº̩̩̀ʃƪʔ I am sincerely touched y'all enjoy my strange AU!
> 
> Recently I got this adorable fan art of [Jesse's mugshot on the Wanted Poster](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/169067817696/sweatshirtnerd-chromatocloo-i-know-you-already) cʕ´ᴥ`✿̶̥̥ʔ
> 
>  
> 
> [Here are the doodles to go with the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/169124893876/lucid-dream-theres-a-new-chapter-in-town-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this new chapter (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)

When Hanzo came back to his senses, he was immediately struck with panic.

He was laying down, on a rug so thin he might as well have been lying on the barren ground, and he was chilled to the marrow. A blanket had been laid over him, but it hardly shielded him from the cold air lingering around. Everything was pitch black around him; he could not even see the tip of his nose.

He was not in Genji’s room anymore, that much he was certain of. And the ambiance was characteristic to the mine alright.  
However he had no idea of which section of the mine he could possibly be in, and whether it was safe or not.

Hanzo immediately tried to sit up, only to stop halfway through; a severe lack of energy crippled his muscles, shaking and strained by the mere attempt. His chest and hand stung harshly at the movement, the cuts inflicted by claws and rock respectively still healing.  
Once the sting cooled down, he became aware of the fact that his wounds had been dressed; there were bandages wrapped around his palm, and a cloth covered the lacerations marking his sternum.

Something scuffled nearby, the sound of fabric shifting and dirt being moved startling Hanzo. He stilled, his senses re-awakened. Was there something in his near? He had to assess the threat in minimal time and react forthwith, even though he could hardly fight a toddler in his miserable state.  
He turned his head in the direction of the sound, but was only met with sheer darkness. He tried to smell the air, but his nose was too cold and numb to pick up anything. As for hearing, he could distinctly make out a second breathing outside of his own.

He was definitely not alone.

Before Hanzo could make a move, a hand pressed against his collarbone to keep him down. The archer’s heart did a somersault in his chest and he lashed out at the foreign touch, trying to pry it off before it could dig its claws into his skin. They had tried to pry his heart out earlier and they had come back to finish the job-  
“Hey, hey, hey!”  
A familiar voice rose from the darkness and a much colder hand gently closed around his wrist. Goose bumps spread across the skin of his arm, causing him to freeze instantly.  
“Calm down Hanzo, it’s me!”

Hanzo gasped, stupefied and so abruptly relieved he could have fainted. Never a Southern accent had had this effect on him in his entire life. “Jesse?” He replied, gripping the hand resting on his shoulder. It was perfectly real, slightly warm, the back peppered with fuzz and the callous fingers normal-sized.  
It had absolutely nothing to do with the elongated, distorted hands and the sharp claws of the nightmarish creatures.  
“It’s me darlin’.” The cowboy replied softly, releasing Hanzo’s wrist to cup his hand. The familiar sensation of the prosthetic fingers brushing over his knuckles was all the more comforting. “We made it, we’re safe now.”

Hanzo pulled himself up with difficulty and blindly reached out for Jesse. His hands found his chest and soon his arms were around the cowboy's shoulders, his face buried in the smelly fabric of the serape. Restraint and dignity foregone, he tightly embraced his companion, overwhelmed and shaken with relief.  
Jesse was stock-still at first, probably caught off by the sudden gesture. Then he hugged Hanzo back just as firmly, rubbing his back and whispering into his ear. “Easy there, easy. You’ll reopen yer wounds if ya keep movin' around like that.”  
The pressure made the claw marks on his chest itch indeed, but Hanzo ignored it in favor of making sure the cowboy was truly here and well. He focused on the man's heartbeat, his breathing, the body warmth slowly transferring into his cold skin.  
“You are alive.” The archer thought out-loud, clenching the worn tissue between his fingers. He could not be hallucinating this. The monsters he had faced the night before, all the things they had made him see and hear had been meant to cause him distress, to push him over the edge; this embrace was nothing but pure solace, a soothing balm over his bruised mind.  
In response, Jesse squeezed his shoulders. “Alive an' kickin' darlin'.” He murmured back.

Eventually Hanzo's abdominals cramped up painfully, forcing him to regretfully release Jesse and lean back on the rug. As the cowboy helped him lie down to ease his muscles, he realized he did not want to be parted from his partner and would not stand almost losing him again.  
“What happened? Where are we?” He asked feverishly. His eyes darted around, but he still could not see a thing. Was he blind? “W-why is it so dark?  
\- We’re still in the mine, an' ya can’t see ‘cause it’s pitch-fuckin'-black.” Jesse replied, adjusting the cloth back over Hanzo’s wounds. “But it’s a work in progress. We’re in a much safer spot now, an’ in much better company too.  
\- What do you mean?” Hanzo frowned, immediately switching to whispering. “Who is with us?”

A fire was suddenly lit behind McCree, casting a warm glow over the cowboy’s frame. As far as Hanzo could see, he was unharmed; his serape had snags here and there, probably where the claws of the things had nicked him.  
Then a detail struck him; instead of a boot, his right foot was wearing a makeshift splint reinforced with thick bandages around his ankle. If this was a sprain, Jesse would not have been able to carry him to safety.  
As the cowboy noticed his growing agitation, he smiled reassuringly. “Don't ya worry, it’s my friend from down here.” Then he awkwardly moved aside to let Hanzo have a look, careful not to put any weight on his injury.  
The archer almost twisted his neck to get a good glimpse at his surrounding and this ‘friend’, still fully alert and guarded.

They were indeed still in the mine, the sight of the rocky ceiling and walls familiar. However it was somewhat furnished; barrels and crates had been converted into stools and tables. Parts of the floor were covered with boards and long drapes. A stove occupied the corner they were currently installed at.  
There was a hooded figure kneeling before it, tending to the fire they had just lit. They were covered from head to toes, their clothes caked with coal dust and brown spots that awfully looked like dry blood. There was not a parcel of skin in sight; metal-plated boots crunched dirt as they shifted on their knees to stir the burning coal and protective gloves encased their hands.

The figure then stood and turned to face them. As if their gear was not imposing enough in itself, they were tall and built like a closet.  
Their face was almost entirely concealed; in addition to the scarf that went up to their chin and the hood covering their head, they had a breathing device over their mouth and nose. Large safety goggles hid their eyes. A hint of white hair poked from beneath the hood.

There was something about them that made Hanzo feel both safe and incredibly uncomfortable. While he had no doubt this person could protect them in case of an attack, he also had no doubt that they could easily overpower him in his weakened state. The only thing that proved this imposing figure was remotely human was a wrinkled, scarred forehead uncovered by the hood. Outside of that, they might as well have been facing a clothed bear.

“Who are they?” Hanzo whispered to McCree, while keeping an alert eye on the figure.  
“Meet our pal, the Soldier. Or jus’ Soldier really, he never told me his real name an' he used to be a soldier.” The cowboy whispered back in Hanzo's ear, his scruffy beard brushing Hanzo's ear. “Could’ve called him Miner since he pretty much lives here, but he doesn't do that much minin'. He's like Reaper with the woods; he watches over this place an' makes sure no one sets a foot in the most dangerous parts o' the Mine. Which is pretty much the entire place with the exception o' the shortcut.  
\- I think Reaper looked less unsettling in comparison.” Hanzo retorted, still put-off by the man's appearance. “He is human, right? That is hard to believe with all this… Attire.  
\- I know, 's more like a bear with a costume on tryin' to pass as human.  
\- I am older than the two of you, but I can still hear your muttering from where I stand. I may have been affected by this place on the long run, but I’m still able.” Soldier said, surprising the archer. Hanzo had honestly expected him to talk in incomprehensible grunts after Jesse's description.

The tall man approached them remarkably silently and towered over them, his arms crossed over his chest. Hanzo involuntarily tensed and clenched Jesse's hand, but the cowboy's relaxed posture appeased his nervousness.  
Soldier looked down at Hanzo, or at least in his general direction. It was impossible to tell really; the lenses of his goggles were completely opaque, the light of the fire reflecting in them with an extra shade of red.

“I already know who you are Shimada, the kid told me.” He spoke, his low voice still intelligible despite the gear covering his face.  
Confused, Hanzo looked at McCree and caught him rolling his eyes. Even though the man was practically growling every word of his sentence, 'the kid' sounded oddly affectionate.  
“I also know about that quest of yours.” Soldier continued. “Now it's none of my business and I do not care to know what's in it for you. What I do care about is what gosh darn reason crossed your goddamn minds, to go venture where you shouldn't have and get way in over your empty heads!  
\- We've already been through this ol' man.” Jesse grumbled back, pinching the bridge of his nose very much like Hanzo did whenever he got impatient with the cowboy. “A deliberate explosion blew the shortcut up an' it collapsed on itself jus' as we arrived. It was completely blocked off, how were we supposed to get through the mountain chain otherwise?  
\- You weren't! You could've done a grand trip around the mountains, or abandoned this cursed quest and doubled back like any reasonable moron. Instead you had to trespass and go through the goddamn depths!” Soldier retorted gruffly. “Good thing I’ve got very good ears. I heard your ruckus from afar and came running as fast as I could to save your sorry asses. But then I get there and what do I see? Two forsaken ghost _dragons_ tearing these assholes apart!”

A short silence followed the end of the man's rant.  
“Dragons?” Hanzo repeated in confusion, before it all abruptly came back to him. His arm glowing with blue light, the energy crackling around him, the dragons flying through the mass of creatures and the deafening roar filling his ears…  
“Oh. I-I did not mean to-.” Hanzo stuttered, grasping for words. He did not have the time or energy to improvise on the moment. “I did not know what I was doing.” He finally admitted after swallowing his saliva.

Soldier scowled, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he frowned behind his goggles. “Clearly you didn’t and it's a miracle you didn't kill your buddy or me for that matter. And the same goes to you Jessy!” He added, raising the brim of the cowboy's Stetson to see his face. “What were you thinking? Going through the long road and bringing this poor fool with you?  
\- Told ya we weren’t plannin’ on goin’ that way in the first place! Ya've got a good ear but it's real selective!” Jesse retorted peevishly. “Anyway I thought ya’d be nearby to help us ‘gainst the Wendigos. Didn't know ya'd be so far away.”  
Before the soldier could reply, Hanzo spoke up. “Wendigos? Is that what these things are?” He asked, intrigued.

Soldier turned his head to face him and Hanzo almost immediately regretted his question. But before the older man had a chance to scold him, Jesse countered. “Give him a break, he didn't know 'bout 'em.” He muttered, slightly shifting to put himself between his lying partner and the tall man's temper.  
However that courageous rebuttal only exacerbated their savior, who was now gesticulating out of exasperation. “You brought him here and didn’t bother telling him about _them_? Didn't you think that it might pose a bit of a problem if you encountered them?  
\- I tried but I couldn't! Ya know what they do to me.” The cowboy protested, split between guilt and anger. “An' I wasn’t plannin’ on meetin’ some in the first place! Or at least I was hopin' they'd stay away after so long-  
\- That's real naive thinking kiddo, especially when it comes from someone who has a pretty good idea of what they do to people!” Soldier snapped.

The two men engaged in a heated argument that seemed endless for Hanzo. He hardly had the strength to follow their discussion, if it could even be called that. Both Soldier and Jesse kept on raising their voices, giving the archer a headache on top of the cold spell that afflicted him.  
“Please, both of you, stop fighting!” He eventually cut, too irritated to stay back and wait it out. “Wendigos or whatever these things are, you will lure them in with your cockfight!”  
Both men looked at him, Soldier's shoulders lowering in surprise and Jesse throwing him a sheepish glance.  
“Naw Han', it’s fine.” The cowboy finally said to put an end to the awkward moment. “They can’t get past solid doors like these.” He pointed at both ends of the large cavity; a metallic grid with a door barred each tunnel leading out. It was not as fancily decorated as the gate they had opened to get in the mine, but it looked just as sturdy.  
“Besides your magic trick spooked them something fierce.” Soldier added, his voice significantly lower than before. “They usually stay nearby and make some infernal noises, but after the dragons they’ve all scattered back in their den.  
\- Alright, that is good to know. Now that we are assuredly safe, would either one of your explain to me, at a reasonable volume, what a Wendigo is? Unless you would rather keep dwelling on the past and passing the buck around, in which case I will crawl out of here and ask these things to finish me off.” Hanzo enunciated slowly. He did not mean to sound threatening or cheeky, but he was too tired and beaten to be diplomatic.

McCree and Soldier exchanged a gaze, Jesse visibly hopeful and the old man unreadable. Then Soldier sighed and crouched down to be at their level, his forehead void of tension. Hanzo sat up to feel less exposed, the cowboy hurriedly giving him a hand to ease the strain on his sore muscles.  
“In folklore, a Wendigo is a malevolent spirit. It possesses human beings who consumed human flesh on their cursed grounds. Turns them into monstrous, ferocious hunters that will also feast on humans. They hunt alone, they don’t do well in groups. But if the territory is threatened, they’ll crawl out from their pit altogether to take the threat down.”  
He paused to remove a glove and rub his brow line; his hand was just as wrinkled, marked with small scars of all kind.  
“The things here however, they aren't the work of a Wendigo. These worms will not eat your flesh, but they will torment you to absolutely no end without killing you, and it’s rare that one alone manages to fight them off on their own. Jesse and I decided to call them Wendigos rather than 'the creeps' or whatnot, it spooks visitors away more efficiently.  
Now these bastards can’t leave the mountain, because I made sure every single way out of here is sealed or at least impossible for them to force. The mine is far larger than it seems, it is all separated from this one area. Took me years, but I managed to gather all that vermin here and imprison them. However they tend to lurk around restlessly and lash onto whatever dares wander in. And if you are alone, tired or weakened anyhow, you’re an easy prey to their vicious torture.”

Hanzo weakly nodded, the sight of the milky eyes and sharp teeth still haunting him. “So… Earlier, when I was hearing your voice and another's, which belongs to someone who should not have been here, that was all them?” He asked Jesse.  
“I'm afraid so darlin'. They ain’t vicious for nothin’.” Jesse sighed, giving Hanzo's back a pat. “They can imitate sounds to lure their prey deeper an’ deeper into their territory where it’s easier to corner them, an’ they excel at it. Whoever ya heard was never here, they jus' got into yer brain an' helped themselves.”  
The archer did not know whether he should feel disappointment or relief Genji had never been here. As much as he missed his brother, he would not have wanted him to be in such a horrible place. But he was also dying to see him otherwise than asleep and barely alive…  
“There was a scream, it sounded an awful lot like you.” He gulped. “I thought you had been injured gravely.  
\- Oh that's the scream I made years ago when I lost my arm.” McCree quipped, absently cupping his left arm. “Bastards sure love to remind me o’ that whenever I come through here. Makes the phantom pain blaze anew, almost as bad as the actual agony I felt when…” He did not finish, lowering his gaze to the ground.

In spite of the fire, Hanzo shivered. He wanted to apologize for putting Jesse through this, he really did. But the words failed him and he did not want to do so in front of Soldier. “You are certain the mountains were more dangerous than this place?” He asked instead, before realizing it might sound accusing.  
And it probably did, for Jesse immediately sputtered. “Well yeah, when the shortcut ain’t blocked with rumbles it is pretty goddam safe!” The cowboy replied before Hanzo could make amends, his tan cheeks definitely darker than before. “If you think Soldier looks scary, you should see that one bear I almost ran into while dyin' o' frostbites!  
\- The boy's right. The wildlife in the mountains is ruthless, probably because it had to survive the weather and the attacks of the beings back when they could go out of the mountain.” Soldier muttered, putting his glove back. “As for the shortcut, it blew up just as you arrived, right?  
\- Yep. If Hanzo an' I had arrived one minute earlier, we would've been blown to smithereens.” Jesse replied on a calmer tone. “Didn’t see the perpetrator though, so either they died in the explosion or they managed to get away somehow. A darn shame ‘cause I’d give them a piece o’ my mind right here an’ now.  
\- So would I. Do tell me if you ever find them.” Soldier groaned as he stood up.

Hanzo opened his mouth to apologize, but the old man was not done talking: “You kids stay here for the night. You need a rest.” He grumbled, digging in a crate and pulling out a fistful of tinderboxes that he stuffed in his cloak. “I'm going to visit the remains of the shortcut. If it caved in like you say it did, it's going to take a while to rehabilitate it. Might as well get started now.  
\- What are ya talkin’ about?” Jesse replied, looking up from beneath his hat and exchanging a stare with Hanzo. “My pardner an’ I ain’t stayin’, we gotta goin'.  
\- Boy, you are not going anywhere like this.” The Soldier huffed impatiently. “Listen to me for once in your life.  
\- Ya can’t tell us what to do, ol’ geezer.” Jesse growled back. “We ain't kids an' we've got some places to go to.  
\- Well I sure as hell didn't invite you willingly, so that makes you trespassers. My domain, my rules. And one of my rules is that anyone who faces the Wendigos has to stay for the night, so they can recover.” Soldier said on a tone that meant no discussion. “Moreover your ankle still can’t fit in your ridiculous boots, and your buddy can barely sit up on his own.” He pointed at Hanzo, who had chosen to lay back down to ease the dizzy spell. “In your state, resting is not an option. It's mandatory.”

The cowboy took a look at Hanzo and the stubbornness that had animated his face melted into guilt. He clammed up, tilting the Stetson to hide his face and crossing his arms over his chest. Hanzo bit his lip, wishing he could say something to defend Jesse. But the older man was right, they could not go anywhere as long as they were not fully functional.  
The soldier let out a faint grunt, then he pointed at a container sitting in a cavity. “There's plenty of water in here if you boys are thirsty. No smoking allowed.” He snapped as the cowboy was about to put a cigar in his mouth. “If I smell the slightest amount of tobacco when I come back, I'll give you a whooping.  
\- Chill ol' man, I wasn't gonna light it.” Jesse muttered, putting the tip of the cigar between his teeth and chewing it down so hard he almost severed it in two.  
“Good. If you’re fine and dandy before I get back, I want you out of here. Understood?  
\- Yessir.” The cowboy sighed, while Hanzo politely nodded. “Thanks for savin’ us old man.  
\- Yes, thank you.” The archer added. “We owe you and I shall never forget that.”  
Soldier went back to them. “Don't mention it, you did most of the work.” He said as he gave Hanzo a pat on the shoulder. Then he turned toward Jesse and knocked his hat off, only to ruffle through his already messy hair. “You watch your back kiddo.” He grumbled, his tone borderline caring.  
The cowboy blushed again, gently swatting the gloved hand away. “Stop ya're embarrassin' me.” He whined, both embarrassed and touched.  
“You'll live. Just stay put and rest for now, I'll come back tomorrow morning.” Soldier muttered, grabbing a pickaxe and an ancient-looking shotgun before he turned away.

As the man walked toward the exit, Jesse looked up and shouted. “Come back in one piece ol' man! Won't forgive ya if ya don't!” He simply said, his eyes bright.  
Soldier stopped, then slightly tilted his head. “I promise I will. See you later son.” He retorted, his voice somewhat softer.  
Then he opened the gate and went through, shutting it behind him. His heavy footsteps gradually died down as he got further and further away into the tunnel.

Jesse dejectedly put his hat back over his head, then pulled his tongue at the door.  
“He is not entirely wrong you know? You are being childish.” Hanzo chuckled. “We did do something very reckless. We are lucky to be alive.  
\- I know, ‘m sorry.” The cowboy sighed. “He jus’ can be so… Like he means no harm but he gets under my skin treatin’ me like I’m some dum’ kid. I know I'm wrong, I jus' don't need an extra layer on top.  
\- To be fair, your friend is certainly rough.” Hanzo admitted. “He is not the harshest man I have ever seen, but I understand why you were so defensive in his presence. Had I not known he was a friend, I would have found him a little antagonistic.  
\- Don't mind 'im, he's jus' an ol' timer. Thinks he knows better than anyone.” Jesse sighed. “Gotta say though, he was right about this. I should've been honest an' dwell on how bad this place actually is.  
\- Uhm, speaking of which, I did not mean to sound accusing earlier.” Hanzo tentatively said, carefully observing Jesse. “You warned me of the dangers of the mountain before we took the shortcut, and you know better than me anyway since you have explored it.”  
Jesse threw a gaze at the archer, then shrugged with a small smile. “No offense taken sweetheart. The mountains sure must have seemed appealin' after the hell ya got put through last night.”

The cowboy then shifted to stand up and Hanzo felt a brief flash of panic. “Wait!” He said as he grabbed Jesse by the sleeve, his voice resonating on the walls.  
He had neither meant to cry out, nor reach out for McCree. But he had done both and now the cowboy was looking at him, eyes wide in surprise. “What's wrong?” He asked, now alarmed.  
Hanzo stayed silent, not knowing what to say. How could he explain to Jesse that he had spent an entire day worrying himself sick over him? That despite his seeing Jesse being fine, he was still raw from the tormenting anguish and could not stand the loss of their proximity?  
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

But Jesse did not wait for him to explain himself, cupping Hanzo's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “I ain't goin' anywhere sweet thing. I’m jus’ gonna get some water for us. I'm sure it'd do ya some good an' I'm pretty thirsty myself.” The cowboy said as he pointed at a water container. “If that can reassure ya, I double-swear that I won't fall over an' break my neck.” He added with a wink.  
The archer let out a shaky sigh, then he mutely nodded and retrieved his hand.

Using a shovel like a crutch, Jesse trudged to the canister. Hanzo kept an eye on him, tensing up every time he wobbled.  
But his concern turned out to be for naught; the cowboy managed to reach his goal and come back without misstep, even though he was hobbling while holding two mugs full of water.  
Jesse slowly sat down next to Hanzo and handed him one of the pots. “Hope I picked the right cups, I can never tell which ones are clean. Can't blame Soldier though, he doesn't have all the necessaries. So head my advice; bottoms up.” The cowboy warned before he downed his mug in one long gulp.  
With that in mind, Hanzo would have abstained from drinking. But the sight of the water reminded him how parched his throat felt. Between the rather realistic sensation and the dream germs that could not affect him in real life, he preferred to take his chances and have a sip.  
The water had a coppery aftertaste, most likely caused by its preservation in an antique canister, but he drank it all nonetheless. It felt lukewarm compared to the coldness affecting him.

“Y'alright?” Jesse asked once Hanzo had finished his water. “Don't say ya're fine an' dandy 'cause clearly ya aren't.”  
The archer rested the cup by the rug and took a few seconds to prepare his answer, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Small crystal formations shone softly among the cracks in the stone, but he payed no attention to them.  
He was going to be honest, within the limitations of maintaining the illusion. Even though his priors outbursts about this all being a dream had not destabilized Jesse or this world anyhow, he was not going to risk anything. Not after yesterday.  
“I thought I had lost you.” He finally whispered, turning his head away from the crystals to look back at Jesse. “I thought you had died.”

Again the cowboy's hazel eyes went wide, his eyebrows flying up so high they were almost masked by the messy locks covering his forehead. “Ya _thought_? Han', ya were unconscious for a long time. Ya didn't budge while Soldier carried us to safety, an' even then I couldn't get a stir outta ya either. The ol' man almost had to knock me out so I’d rest.  
\- Well… The thing is that I dream whenever I sleep.” Hanzo replied. Turning the truth around felt bizarre, but it was the only way he could come up with to justify himself. “I have lucid dreams, where I am aware throughout the entire night. And while I was unconscious to you, I was actually wide awake in my sleep and… I spent the entirety of it fearing for your life.” His voice slightly cracked and he coughed to dissimulate the emotion that threatened to spill.

Jesse's surprise gave way to a saddened expression. “Oh Hanzo, I had no idea.” He whispered, shifting to sit closer to the 'bed'. “Ya were that worried 'bout me?  
\- I believe the answer is pretty obvious, don't you think?  
\- I know, that was a rhetorical question.” The cowboy chuckled. Then he scuttled even closer to Hanzo and put his arms around him.  
Without a shred of hesitation, Hanzo welcomed the embrace and hugged the cowboy back. “I think you are mistaken about what a rhetorical question actually is.” He muttered against Jesse's shoulder, causing the cowboy to chuckle.  
“I'm probably off the mark on that one, but it doesn't matter. That trick ya did saved us darlin', Soldier arrived right after ya passed out. I'm sorry ya were sufferin' in yer sleep when everythin' was actually fine.” Jesse replied, his thumb brushing circles over the base of the archer's neck.

Hanzo let out another jittery sigh, overwhelmed with relief and peace the hug brought him. “I am so sorry for putting you through this.” He lamented, slightly clenching the fabric of the serape between his fingers.  
Upon his words, Jesse slightly pulled away without releasing him, frowning. “Darlin', what are ya apologizin' for? I'm the one who made the call o' goin' through this hellhole. It wasn't yer fault.  
\- But the reason we came here in the first place is the quest. If I had not started this entire thing-  
\- Lemme stop ya right there Han'.” Jesse cut, seizing Hanzo's face and staring right in his eyes. The archer felt pinned under the powerful stare, unable to do anything but blink at the cowboy.  
“Listen to me. Stop talkin' as if ya were responsible of every piece o' dust in the Desert. Stop carryin' all of our problems on yer shoulders. Bad shit happens all the time, whether we want it or not, sometimes for no reason whatsoever. Sure the quest took us 'ere, but I could've asked to go 'round the mine after findin' out the shortcut had gone kablooey. Heck I could've declined bein' yer guide the moment ya offered. But I chose to go through 'ere 'cause we'd gain more time by doin' that, over the price of our safety. What happened last night was my fault.”

Jesse paused to lick his lips, Hanzo quietly waiting for him to continue. His cheeks were heating up under the cowboy's hands and he was unsure whether it was from the body heat warming his skin or a blush spreading on his face. They were so close the locks of hair that had escaped from his ponytail budged whenever Jesse exhaled.  
“I didn't really choose to keep ya in the dark 'bout these fuckin' creeps. I was scared off my boots, not thinkin' straight. I thought I was imaginin’ things, scarin’ myself ya know? No one can be sound o' mind in this cursed place. An' jus' talkin' 'bout 'em made me feel like I was pullin' my teeth out. Still there's no excuse for that; I should've told ya everythin' I knew regardless an' I didn't. I failed ya.  
\- You did not.” Hanzo cut, frowning at the guilt on Jesse's face. “You did not fail me, you came back for me. I did not just get lost in your absence, I forgot all about your warning. I was fooled and lured away by one of them, just as you were. And while you quickly snapped out of it on your own, I ran straight to my own demise and almost got slaughtered like a feeble lamb.  
\- What else could ya do? Ya heard me scream, ain't somethin' that ya'd suspect to be a trap. 'Sides, even though the quest an' our actions led us here, ya're forgettin' somethin'. The fuckin' ninja, who I'm sure is behind the destruction o' the shortcut. Couldn't have been the junkers, they are so loud Soldier would've heard 'em comin' from miles afar. Outside o' that assassin, I can't think of anyone who'd take such risks in order to sabotage our trip.  
For shorts, what happened ain't yer fault anyhow. So ya get that through yer thick skull an' ya stop blamin' yerself. Chain more boulders to yer ankles an' ya won't even be able to move.”

Hanzo had absorbed every single word (even 'kablooey') and yet he found hard to believe them. His self-loathing had gained so much strength over the years that the crude, yet wise and obviously right words of a cowboy were difficult to accept.  
His face must have crunched up because a pair of dry lips kissed his forehead, then the strong arms were back around his shoulders. “Silly dragon man. Unless ya're a God in the flesh, ya can't control what's fate an' what's due to chance.” Jesse hummed against his hair.  
“With what I have done to save you, I am not certain of the extent of my powers anymore.” Hanzo laughed joylessly.  
“Ya didn't know at all ya could shoot dragons? Ya did look pretty surprised back when it happened an' when Soldier broke the news to ya.  
\- I knew they would come to aid the worthy in times of crisis, but I had no idea they would manifest in such ways. I can hardly recall how it happened, and I am shocked I did not accidentally harm you.  
\- Well I remember ya sayin' some words an' ya sorta went, uhm, Super Saiyan?  
\- The word you are looking for is transcending, and I do not believe it is what happened. It seemed more like an invocation of some kind, for I said certain words and the Dragons appeared almost right after.” He tried to recall the words, but he might as well try to catch butterflies with his bare hands; the memory kept fleeing his grasp, and his tiredness hindered his efforts. “Do you remember what I said by any chance?  
\- I think I heard ya, but I don't quite know. It's all a bit fuzzy 'cause I was surrounded an' all.” Jesse admitted, chagrined. “Was pretty cool though, the way them Dragons appeared an' slew these fuckers without hurtin' me.  
\- They did not? Because I felt their energy crackle within me before I took the shot, and it simply hurt, as if I was struck by lightning and burning up all at once.  
\- Nope, didn’t get none o' that. Not even a bug sting!” The cowboy shrugged. “I felt warm an' safe, like I was rolled up in a big blanket. A roarin' blanket charged with static electricity.”

Hanzo had to repress a chuckle at Jesse's dreamy look. “That does not sound very comfortable.  
\- It was peculiar for sure.” The cowboy smiled. “But I assure ya I didn't feel threatened at all. Heck that cut short to the things these creeps were makin' me hear. Nothin' before has ever pulled me away from their influence so efficiently Han'. I usually have to go outside o' the mine an' drink a freaky amount o' booze in order to breathe again. But yer Dragons? They stopped their shit an' delivered me from them somethin' fierce.  
\- I think I understand what you mean.” Hanzo replied. Jesse had done the same for him after all.

“This man, Soldier, I really must ask… Is he your father?” The archer asked as the cowboy took a sip out of his own mug.  
Jesse spat his drink out of surprise, spraying water all over his own feet. “Wha-Naw, what makes ya say that?” He retorted while hastily dabbing his bandaged ankle with his serape. “Do we look alike to ya?  
\- I cannot say he does when all I could see from his face was a few square centimeters of wrinkled skin. No, I only ask because of the way he cares for you and speaks of you. It is the same impression I had around Reaper, except I could actually understand him this time and I noticed the slight softness he addressed you whenever he was not ranting.  
\- Ah, can’t say ya're mistaken. Both o’ them are like my Godfathers. We ain’t connected by blood, but they love me like their own shitty son an’ I love ‘em back like my two overbearin’ dads.”

This time Hanzo allowed himself to chuckle softly. “That is a strangely blended family. The owl, the Soldier and the cowboy. It still sounds like the start of a bad joke, but it must be nice not to be alone in these unwelcoming places.  
\- It is, lemme tell ya that.” Jesse groaned as he stretched his back. Then he leaned and whispered conspiratorially. “Ya joke an' all, but I think Soldier an' Reaper are connected.”.  
Hanzo raised an eyebrow, then decided to play along and whispered back. “What makes you think that?  
\- There are days I caught Soldier standin' jus' at the entrance o' the mine an' gazin' toward the forest. An' on other days, I found Reaper hidin' in a tree, lookin' at the mountains all melancholic. Asked both o' them, but never got a straight answer from either one.” The cowboy sighed pensively. “Ain't my business, but I'd like to know more 'bout my protectors.  
\- That I can relate to.” Hanzo nodded, thinking about his editors.

Jesse stared at him a little curiously, then he seemed to come around. “Hey, ya wanna go? My ankle's sprained but I can walk. Slowly an' as long as this shovel can take bein' a walkin' stick.” He offered instead. “The door ain't locked, we can leave whenever we want an' I know ya're worried 'bout the time an' all.  
\- That is true, but it would be dangerous for you to push yourself on uneven ground. Furthermore I am in no state to walk or even stand. The simple act of sitting takes a lot out of me.” Hanzo muttered, fighting off a shiver. “Perhaps it is better we take Soldier's advice and rest here until tomorrow. Besides he offered we stayed, spitting on the hospitality of a friend would be rude.  
\- Ain't gonna argue with ya on that.” Jesse smiled broadly, before raising the cup back to his lips.

In the silence that followed, Hanzo stared down at his hands. Then he gathered his courage and looked back up, speaking just as the cowboy rested his mug alongside his. “Jesse? I want you to know that I am truly glad to see you are well. I really thought you had-… I feared I would never-” The archer could not finish, biting his tongue in irritation. He had started so well and now he was fumbling words. How disgraceful.

But Jesse poked his forehead, snapping him out of it. “Yesterday wasn't my best day. Usually it takes more than mean skinny bastards to take me down. ‘Specially when I don’t wanna disappoint ya my friend.  
\- Well I must say you managed to climb a wall all by yourself, without rope or my assistance, which is quite impressive considering how your last climbing went.  
\- Yeah these guys are pretty darn motivational. I’d climb the goddam Eiffel tower jus’ to get away from them.  
\- Which one? The one in Paris or the replica in Las Vegas?  
\- Whichever one is the smallest?” Jesse replied after a small pause.

The two chuckled, until Hanzo was cut off by another quiver.  
“Y'okay darlin'? I can see ya shiver like a leaf in the wind.” Jesse said as he leaned to inspect the archer, careful not to put any weight on his ankle.  
“It is nothing.” Hanzo replied, trying to conceal the tremors shaking him.  
A hand rested on his forehead, making him gasp; Jesse's palm was hot, like a heating pad. “Bullshit Han', ya're freezin' cold. Lemme fix that.”

With a lot of difficulties, Jesse dragged the cot closer to the stove while Hanzo was still leaning on it. Then he unwound the serape from around his shoulder and wrapped the archer in it.  
Never mind that it was probably full of dust and dirt, the fabric radiated with warmth and provided more protection than the blanket.  
Hanzo squeezed the cape-like clothe around his torso, desperately trying to warm up. Yet the cold plaguing him kept on lingering, leeching off the little body heat he managed to produce. He was still unsure of the reason behind this cold. Whether it was a side effect from his meeting with the 'Wendigos' or his summoning dragons, it was very persistent.  
Something shifted by Hanzo's side and he opened his eyes, only to be surprised; Jesse was leaning right next to him, the cowboy making himself comfortable on the rug. “I'm sorry for invadin' yer space, but yer health's more important.” He mumbled sheepishly, resolutely avoiding Hanzo's eyes by staring at the ceiling. “You'll get to kick me away when ya're peachy.”

Hanzo was speechless at first, then he managed to smile in spite of his chattering teeth. “I am not going to do such a thing, even when I will have the strength to do so. It would be heartless of me after everything you have done for my sake.” He replied with a slight hint of mockery that quickly gave way to truth.  
With the minimal energy he had, he managed to move over so Jesse could have more room on the rug. Then he raised the blanket and patted the spot next to him. “Get underneath this poor excuse of a cover. You always sleep with your serape bundled up, I will not risk you getting sick in this cold place.”  
The cowboy did not make him repeat himself. He crawled under the blanket, placing his hat beneath his head. “What if Soldier walked in on us? How scandalous!” He whispered, before doing a rather accurate imitation of the old man's voice. “Goddam kids sleepin' together outta wedlock on my turf!”  
Hanzo snorted in response, then gave Jesse a sluggish tap on the forehead as the cowboy cackled. “Shush, or Soldier will hear you mock him and kick us both out of his sight.  
\- Eh, takes a lot more than a small impression to hurt his feelings. The man's a bear I tell ya! 'Sides yer cute snort is worth any whoopin' he's ever threatened o' givin' me.  
\- As much as I would like to witness such a show, I am now too weary to indulge your humor.  
\- Dang, that was my only cartridge? I woulda done a longer one if I had known.” Jesse pouted exaggeratedly, adjusting the blanket over his body with affronted huffs.  
Hanzo turned his head away with a snicker, while the cowboy's pout dissolved into a smirk.

With the fire crackling in the stove and the cowboy right by his side, warmth wrapped around Hanzo like a silk cocoon. He was starting to nod off and he had to admit that sleep felt very welcoming. With the physical and mental fatigue weighing him down, resting was assuredly vital for his recovery.  
However he struggled to stay awake, wanting to stay in Jesse's presence as long as he could. The cowboy was quiet, sometimes whispering a tune just loud enough for him to enjoy. In these times the archer felt his attention dip, the soft songs lulling him. But whenever the tune turned to silence, Hanzo was brought back to awareness by a constant need of making sure Jesse was still here.

At some point he hesitantly reached out and rested a hand over the cowboy's. It was a daring gesture coming from him, but it was the only solution he could think of to put an end to this startle reflex.  
Hanzo's expectation that his partner would awkwardly pull back at any second was overthrown when Jesse flipped his hand over and intertwined his fingers with his. Abashed, the archer looked at him and found the cowboy smiling warmly at him.  
“All ya had t'do is ask darlin'.” He murmured droopily, before he closed his eyes and hummed another tune.

Hanzo let out a breathy chuckle, then slightly squeezed Jesse's hand. Of all the gestures that had happened between the two of them, including the kisses and all the comforting hugs that the cowboy had given him since he woke up here, this had to be the most intimate, meaningful and tender one.  
“Thank you.” Hanzo whispered, feeling suddenly so light and warm his eyes closed on their own. The cowboy said something back, but he was already too far gone to hear it.  
Now that he could be sure that Jesse was always there, there was nothing to keep him from falling into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait this chapter ends with fluff instead of a cliffhanger? Mighty bears!! ⊂ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔつ


	30. A cup of Joe with some Noodles on top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as the worst coffee recipe ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆;ʔ ☕️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? Welcome back for a new chapter ˚₊*ʕˊॢo̴̶̷̤ᴥo̴̶̷̤ˋॢʔ*₊˚  
> Thank you so much to y'all, newcomers and regulars, for your kudos and your comments!
> 
> Thank you also for your patience, cause it took me a little longer than usual to get this chapter out ʕ˃̵ᴥ˂̵ ʔ but I'm not sorry for delaying the update, because it allowed me to add more of it and give you a chapter that got out of hand!
> 
>  
> 
> [Here are the doodles I made for the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/169970104581/lucid-dream-a-new-update-has-chaptered-howdy)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy this update ʕ ॢ′ᴥ‵ू ʔ

“Hanzo? Hanzo, wake up. It's time.”

As Hanzo slowly drifted back to consciousness, he was only marginally aware of the hand gently shaking his shoulder. Until the gentle nudging made his head loll forward, efficiently tearing him from his somnolence.  
“Jesse?” Hanzo croaked in confusion, squinting as the ambient light surrounding him was much harsher than the glow of a fire.

The light actually came from the ceiling neons, and it was Lúcio who was standing before him, not the cowboy. The young man looked quite different now; his uniform was wrinkled and his body posture betrayed a certain exhaustion. Yet he still radiated with goodwill, a warm smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“I'm real sorry to disturb your sleep so soon, but Angela has arrived earlier than she usually does.” He spoke softly, his voice hardly louder than the humming of the machines by Genji's bed. “There's no rush though. She's currently changing and I still have to brief her once she's ready, so that gives you plenty of time to pack up and leave.  
\- Right.” Hanzo groaned, rubbing his face to try and wake up. He wanted to go back to sleep so bad, back into the uncomfortable 'bed' with the cowboy by his side and surrounded with warmth.  
But his body was now crying in discomfort for having stayed all night on a plastic chair; he needed to stand and get a move on if he did not want to confront Angela. He was not ready to face her yet, he would rather do so once he would have the wisdom to swallow his pride and apologize. “Thank you very much for your kindness.” He told Lúcio gratefully. “I shall not forget it.  
\- No problem sir. Merry Christmas!” The younger man grinned, giving the writer one last wave before he retreated to the door and left the room.

Hanzo slowly extricated himself out of the chair, then went to the bathroom in order to splash his face with water. He was unsure whether his body was cramped because of the uncomfortable position he had slept in all night, or the lamentable state of his dream self.  
It took a few stretches to chase the soreness away. A small ache persisted in his neck and lower back, but a shower and a rest in a proper bed would definitely remedy it.

Nothing could make Hanzo regret spending the night here anyway. Even though Genji was most likely unaware of his presence, even though it was a hassle going in and out of the city with this weather, even though he now had to go back to his cold flat and worry about his precariousness, his little brother had not spent this Christmas night alone.  
That was more than enough to comfort him.

Plus the fact that _Jesse McCree was alive_ and they were _safe_.

The thought brought a small smile to Hanzo's lips and he cupped his own hand. He could almost feel Jesse's fingers interlocked with his, dry and fuzzy knuckles beneath his digits, and a scarred thumb brushing against his.  
A great deal of the anxiety Hanzo had felt the day before was gone. His mind was free of a tremendous sting, while his body was still dealing with the aftermath of yesterday’s stress; his diaphragm was tensed and he was not sure he would be able to stomach food until noon.

As Hanzo was gathering his belongings, his eyes caught Genji's still face. Rather than looking away like he always did, he zipped his bag closed and abruptly said: “I have met someone recently. He was horribly frustrating at first, even more than you have been to me in years. He irked me the very second we met, and he still does every now and then. Just a little.”

Why was he telling his brother this? He was not sure what had spurred him to speak up about Jesse, but he could not find it in him to stop now.  
Of all people, Genji was the sole one he would ever tell about his strange dreams and Jesse McCree.

“His company is pleasant overall. He has a lousy sense of humor, very much like yours, and he is in all aspects a cowboy from a Macaroni Western, although better. I have no doubt you two would get along. He is fun, handsome-uh, to your standards, I guess. Brave, if not a daredevil in the soul, and kind. One of the kindest men I have ever met, and occasionally charming on top of that.” His cheeks heated up. Had Genji been awake, he would have resolutely stood before the door and forbidden him to leave unless he spilled the beans.

“I wish you could meet him, I really do.” Hanzo sighed, lightly brushing his brother's growing hair. “But I must be realistic. It will never be, no matter how much I would like it to happen. Simply because he is… He is not real. And even if he were, as far as I know, you are not about to wake up anytime soon.”  
He then cupped Genji's hand, mechanically brushing his knuckles. “I know, I know, I am being pessimistic again. But the fourth year since you've fallen into a coma will end in a few days. What are the chances you will wake up during the fifth one? Do these odds increase with time? Or do they decrease? I would ask your doctor Ziegler, but things are quite strained between us. My behavior toward her the last time we met was most disgraceful.”  
He bit his tongue. What he was doing right now was not any better. “I am sorry, I do not mean to pressure you. Your focus should be on is recovering at your own speed, whether you are done this year or ten later. Until then, and for all the time you will spend in reeducation, the pressure is mine alone to take. I promised I would provide for you without complaining, and I shall honor this promise even if I am reduced to living in your boxes and eating your notebooks as a substitute for food.”

'If it comes to that, start with the still life sketches. These are full of vitamins.' Genji surely would have replied.

After making sure that there were no traces of his passage left (surely Doctor Ziegler would not take a peek in the garbage, but he was still going to dispose of the empty cake box in a trashcan outside), Hanzo was ready to leave. With his lighter bag strapped to his back, he hovered by his brother's bed. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the scared forehead.  
“I will try to come back before, and after New Year. Stay well Otōto.” He whispered. Then he left the room and snuck out of the hospital with the discretion of a wanted felon.

–

Returning home took some time. It was early enough that dawn had yet to show, and the public transports were quite sparse. To make things all the more toilsome, the traffic remained difficult with all the snow that had fallen the day before and set during the cold night.  
The stations were practically deserted. Hanzo was thankful for that; he probably would have gotten stares, with his wrinkled clothes, the dark rings beneath his eyes and a beard he should not keep on procrastinating its trimming. While he would not have cared much for a stranger's opinion, he despised being watched. He may have left the Yakuza milieu years ago, he still had the sensory acuity one developed after being put under constant threat of assassination. The slightest glance that lingered for too long on his person raised the alert, no matter who was staring and why they were doing it in the first place.

The ride on the train felt so long, all Hanzo could do to stay awake was writing his dream down in his Filofax. His writing was atrociously messy because of the jarring, and he had the nagging feeling that the person sitting in the opposite row was trying to decipher his scribbling. But it was that, or nodding off and risking missing his station.

By the time Hanzo reached home, he was cold and famished. While the storm was not as bad as yesterday's blizzard, it still got to the writer through his layers of clothing. The wind had picked up and snow was falling steadily, fat flakes getting caught in his hair and drifting along his face despite the hood covering his head.  
Once Hanzo was inside his flat and out of his shoes, he almost went straight to his futon. He wanted to slump in it and fall back asleep, return to the quietness of Soldier's den, the warmth of the stove and Jesse's presence by his side.  
But the sheer power of his manic cleanliness held him back; he had to put the wet clothes away and wash himself from the aseptic scent of the hospital and the dirt of the public transport. So he went to the bathroom and allowed himself to switch on the hot water, just enough to have a lukewarm shower. It was only for a short time, but he enjoyed every second of it.

When it came to tending to his hunger, Hanzo found himself in an dead end; his stomach was so sensitive the very idea of eating made him gag, and the near emptiness of his fridge was a downer. At least he still had enough money to buy some plain rice and green tea at the grocery store, but he did not feel like going back out and brave the cold so soon.  
Until then he would have to do with what he had left for the day. Maybe he would go this afternoon, or tomorrow.  
With the slightest amount of dignity a tired man can summon, Hanzo slumped on the futon and rolled himself in the blanket.

Several minutes later, he sat up and turned his laptop on. After nodding off a couple of times only to stay awake, he might as well transcribe his messy notes into his compendium right now.

“It is with upmost relief that I start this entry, for Jesse McCree is alive.  
The miraculous apparition of the Dragons saved us, scaring away all the foes that were hunting us down, and the shadow I briefly saw before I fainted turned out to be an ally coming to our rescue.  
Had I known we were fine this entire time, I would not have given myself an ulcer thinking about the cowboy dying because of my own failure at staying awake. Or rather asleep in that case.

But let us not rush ahead. Everything in its own time.

I woke up in distress, for darkness and silence greeted me at my wakening […] Answering by no other name than 'Soldier', he is a most peculiar man. I should not be surprised by anything after meeting Reaper, but his appearance and the mystery that surrounds him are just as perplexing as a ghostly owl […] I cannot believe the luck we had this time, after all the evil fortune we suffered so far. I had no idea I could summon Dragons, I am not even sure how it happened. I had just as much control on it as I have on the cowboy.

On top of the broken Plate, I told Jesse I had certain abilities to justify my arrival in his world and give myself a bit of backstory, without giving any specific details on my actual past.  
Western towns, a rotting forest guarded by otherworldly owls and trees, a mine filled with monsters… I suppose that what I have done, summoning Dragons by shooting an arrow, is not too eccentric in this world.  
Not to mention it puts my tattoos into a very different light, one I think is more glorious than their true meaning. First the branding of the Shimada-Gumi and another test to reinforce my ability to withstand pain, they are now a part of me, too beautiful, too meaningful to part from. This new dimension rekindles me with them. Even now as I stare at the intricate pattern of the scales, I feel no disgust and instead reminisce of the glow radiating from my arm and the sheer power I unleashed to save my friend.  
I wish I could remember what phrasing I used to summon them. No matter how hard as I try, I cannot remember. All I can recall is the primal anger that filled me, the energy crackling in my arm and the roaring of the Dragons in my ears.

I have given some thought to the enigma of the creatures Jesse and Soldier call 'Wendigos'. Since both of them are not sure of what these beings are, I might as well reflect on the subject myself. I have managed to tie most of what I have seen to a metaphorical expression, I will not make an exception out of these dreadful creatures.  
Back in the mine, they inflicted upon me some of the worst memories I harbor and, stupefyingly, some of the few I cannot fully recall. Moreover the way they acted, lingering in the depths of the mine and following whoever ventures there to attack them with terrible memories when they are at their most vulnerable, their promptness to destroy morale and health, like the darkness in the corners of the mind that waits for an opportunity to strike and make itself omnipresent.  
The more I think about it, the more I see these creatures as the impersonation of dark thoughts. And if I am right, it makes them all the more terrifying.

I wonder what they made Jesse relive if it was not the loss of his arm. Which must be so horribly painful and atrocious in itself, I wonder with dread what could possibly top it off.  
Actually, maybe I should not want to find out. While I wish to know more about Jesse's rich history, I feel guilty over this morbid curiosity. Especially when he has been so adamant to comfort me even though I have not once been quite so tender on him.  
Maybe it means that our companionship is evolving furthermore into something… I cannot quite think of a word for what it might turn into.  
I have one on my mind, but I dare not write it. It is silly…]”

–

Shortly after Hanzo finished typing the entry, his phone vibrated once on his nightstand. He sluggishly picked it up, wondering who might be texting him at this hour.  
It was Hana. The text was short, but that was her usual style. Few words, usually followed by a string of ridiculous emoticons.  
“What’s up old man? Merry Xmas! Don't forget about the party”  
This message, despite its shortness and the abundance of snowmen in it, summoned a spark of anguish within Hanzo's chest. But instead of letting it fester, he nipped it in the bud and slowly typed back a reply:  
“I promise I will try. Now go sleep, or you will be sipping that foul candy-flavored concoction all day.”

Seconds later he already had a reply: “You can’t tell me what to do” in all caps and too many exclamation points. Almost immediately followed by a less choleric one, ended with a bunny.  
“Just kidding, I only have one strip to finish then I’ll crash and catch some Zs before work. Bye, see you at the party.”  
It got both a small chuckle out of him and an urge to swallow his saliva. It seemed the word of his being invited to the Morrison-Reyes' party had spread out. He should not be surprised, it was never a secret to begin with. But he had hoped Gabriel and Jack would remain discreet about it.

Hanzo rested his phone and saved 'Two fools on a Journey' on his mailbox. The document was nearing three hundred pages now, it was hard to believe he had poured so many words into it when he had been struggling to write enough poetry to fit a square on the page of a magazine.

Just as he was about to disconnect from his account, a new message popped up in the mail box. He recognized the cryptic address of the sender right away; it was from his anonymous fan.  
With a little bit of excitement, he promptly opened it and read it thoroughly:

“ _Dear mister Shimada,_  
 _I hope you are well and having nice holidays, whether you have already celebrated it/are still celebrating it/are about to celebrate it._  
 _I am contacting you because I have found out you make poems for the Overwatch Editions weekly paper. Before I go any more about this, I must make a confession._  
 _I was never interested in poetry before I discovered your work. I do enjoy lyricism in songs, but that's about it. I'm basically not good in poetry and don't have much knowledge on it, so you have every right to think that my opinion on your works is totally worthless. I mean, you can't properly judge a fine piece of meat if all you eat is beef jerky, right?_  
 _Anyway._  
 _I absolutely loved “ Marigold Sand”. I laughed myself silly at “Twenty ways to make the most stoic person wish they could rip their own ears off”. The illustration was just so fitting too, D.Va is a fantastic artist._  
 _I could list all of the poems I also liked, but I fear it's a list too long for an email._

 _Now, to be completely honest, I did not mail you just to praise your work despite my inability to properly appreciate it. The truth is that I noticed something about your poems that rose my concern. Some of them however are noticeably sad, if not downright heart-breaking. Sure almost all of them date prior to “ Marigold Sand”, but “Untitled n°148” is quite recent. I do not think I need to remind you which one I am talking about, but in case you do it is the one that appeared in last week's issue._  
 _Now from what I know, poets usually express their point of view and/or their emotions. If you are that kind of poet, then a huge portion of your work hints that you are unwell. If hint means 'shouting through a megaphone' and unwell means 'on the edge of a precipice'._  
 _It is probably really presumptuous of me to write that, but I just want you to know that you can contact me if you need to talk_ ”

And that was it. The mail abruptly ended right there, without the usual signature.  
Hanzo frowned in confusion; was this unfinished?  
It turned out that it was, for he received a second mail a few seconds later. That one had been visibly written with haste, for it contained a serious amount of mistakes and lacked any kind of formatting:

“ _Dear mister Shimada, please ignore my previous message, I accidentally hit the send button by mistake before I could finish it and reread it. Well I guess don't ignore all of it. I do mean what I said about your poems. Well maybe not the sad stuff cause I'm probably not a good judge really. Anyway I hope my messages are not an annoyance to you. My offer was totally presumptuous and I understand if you wish to block me after that. I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect. Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays and an early happy New Year._  
 _Sincerely, a very sorry fan._  
 _PS: if you do forgive me and still accept to write me back after that mess, I suppose that would be my Christmas miracle._ ”

Hanzo let out a soft sigh. There was such an awkward, self-deprecating person behind this pitiful message, one that hastily drew back in fear of being too forward. Were they shy? Did they hold him in a high esteem despite his having written nothing but tiny poems for the past few years?  
Without waiting he rapidly typed a reply, hoping his correspondent would see it before they logged out of their account:

“Dear fan,  
Your message was thoughtful and touching. I appreciate your kindness.  
I cannot promise that I will confide in you one day, but I would like you to know that I already have to some extent. Perhaps you do not quite realize it yet, but read my previous messages and you will.  
You are allowed to have an opinion about my work whether you write or not, especially when you are talking about the way it made you feel. That is a valuable opinion for a poet and I would be a fool to dismiss it on the argument you are not versed in poetry.  
Poems are vessels; they convey emotions, communicate a sensation, a feeling, anything that the poet is describing, to the reader. You were not in the wrong saying some of my poems made you feel sad. That is what they were supposed to convey. As you have been honest about your intentions, I will tell you the truth; I wrote almost all of these depressing poems in the midst of personal distress.  
It is no secret that I had an accident years ago, from which I came out scarred. Only recently did I manage to find inspiration in a less dark tone. 'Marigold Sand' was the first of a new line of poems that is not axed on grief, despair or guilt.

You also should know that if I had felt oppressed by this exchange at any time, I would have immediately cut short to it.  
Of course I must warn you that you have indeed stepped over a limit. You do not know me and I do not know you. But your drawing back and apologizing tells me you are completely aware of that, which is why I do not condemn you and accept your apology.

As long as you do not pry into my personal life or make these exchanges public, then I would be thrilled to keep discussing with you.  
Sincerely,  
H. S.  
PS: Happy holidays to you too.”

Hanzo really hoped it would come out as compassionate and reassuring rather than admonishing. As much as he wanted to keep a wall between this stranger and him, he worried about losing this connection. There was something about this daring fan that made them precious in his eyes.

Fingers crossed, he sent the message.  
About a minute later, he received a very succinct reply:  
“ _Thank you very much :'D Imma continue my prior message real soon, just have to dance a little jig first._  
 _Ho ho ho,_  
 _A jolly fan_ ”

This time it was a chuckle that escaped Hanzo. “Do not push your luck.” He said out-loud, an amused smirk stretching his lips. “You are off the hook for now.”

A little later, the fan sent him a message expressing their thoughts on his latest poem with a little more depth than his prior analysis. Then they had a discussion on figures of speech, basic constructions, things his fan seemed to be unaware of and took a high interest in.  
It made Hanzo wonder if the misspelling and the lack of knowledge resulted from a failed education, a learning condition, an impediment or simply a foreigner struggling with English. He preferred not to ask, thinking it would be insensitive and rather selfish after demanding the respect of his privacy.

Outside of the continuous exchange, interrupted by a five-minutes trip of the store at lunch time and another one to the laundry room in the afternoon, Hanzo did not do much during the day. Nonetheless he felt content, because he had had an interesting conversation, and he also had yet to continue his journey with Jesse. After the close encounter in Mine, he had a feeling they could take on whatever awaited them.

Unlike yesterday, he went to bed with an appeased mind and a thirst for adventure.

–

When Hanzo woke up in the Soldier's den, he was feeling almost too warm.  
It was so hot beneath the blanket that he might as well have been lying under a kotatsu. Perhaps the cold he had felt yesterday had been a symptom of his tiredness the entire time, or the backlash of the Wendigos messing with his mind.  
As the archer shifted, he noticed the fact that he was also no longer on his back. Instead be was turned on his side, with some kind of pillow under his head.

He opened his eyes and was surprised to find Jesse's sleeping face so close to his.  
In his sleep, he must have had scooted over to be against the cowboy, maybe seeking for more warmth or proximity. He had wrapped an arm around the chest armor and rested his head against his shoulder, pressing his nose against the soft plaid. Their hands were still linked, trapped in the small space between their thighs.

Hanzo slowly sat up, a little mortified to have invaded the other man's personal space with complete impunity. Outside of the times he had let Genji sleep by his side after a nightmare back when they were children, he had never shared a bed with anyone. Who would have thought that he was a cuddly sleeper?  
Had Jesse even felt it? Had he been awakened by his moving? If he had, why had he not shoved him off? Would he mention it after waking up?  
At least he had not drooled on his shirt, or else this would have been the end of the world.

Embarrassed and careful not to wake Jesse, Hanzo very gently extricated himself from the bed. Pulling his hand out of the cowboy's grip had been the hardest, for his arm was numb and he was not eager to part from his partner. But the need for a bit of fresh air and an increasing thirst motivated him to move.  
The cloth slipped away from his chest as he moved, but it did not stung; his wounds were already healed, even though the lacerations had been deep. The one on his hand was probably closed too, but he preferred not to remove the bandage for now.

Once he was up, he removed the serape from his shoulders and rested it over Jesse like a quilt. He felt too hot to keep it on and the cowboy would surely appreciate having it back.  
The air in the den was barely cooler than the makeshift bed; the fire in the stove had diminished during their sleep, but it still radiated with heat and emitted enough light to see.

Hanzo picked up one of the mugs by the bed and made his way to the water container, turning the rusty valve as slowly as he could in order not to make a sound. Outside of Jesse's soft snoring and the discreet howling of a draft, silence reigned in the lair.  
The water hardly tasted better than it did yesterday, nonetheless it was refreshing and efficiently soothed Hanzo's parched mouth. He drank the mug in one long sip, then indulged himself with a second one to fully quench his thirst.

After using a third to wash the dust from his face, Hanzo sat back on a crate to study the rest of the den. There was not much else to see, except another way out that was also barred with an impressive grid, and a niche in one of the walls that he had been unable to see from the rug. From a distance it looked like a shrine of some kind.

Intrigued, Hanzo left his improvised seat and walked toward the niche. His first impression was reinforced by a closer look.  
It resembled a little the family altar he kept in his flat, except it was far less ordered and makeshift like everything else in the den. They were candles propped on the rocks and in the cracks of the wall, surrounded by wax and dry plants. A crate sat next to a stool, containing old clothes and more noticeably a worn hat riddled with bullet holes. On the stool sat a silver plate containing several items; a black feather, a faded photograph, a cracked bowl filled with bones (much too tiny to be human), and other trinkets he could not identify without handling.

While keeping a respectful distance from the stool, Hanzo crouched in order to examine the photograph. It was sepia-colored and faded, but he could make out two men standing in front of a house. The men's faces were impossible to make out; the one on the left, a dark-skinned man as far as Hanzo could tell from the remaining shades, had a long coat and seemed to be wearing what was now collecting dust in the crate, while the one on the right wore a different outfit that was nowhere to be seen.  
Both of them had firearms, a shotgun for the man on the left and a rifle for the one on the right. But the detail that attracted the archer's eye was the proximity between the two, and the fact one of them had his arm wrapped around the other's waist, in a way one could only describe as intimate.

Hanzo tore his eyes away from the picture and admonished himself. That was private, he should not have taken a peek in the first place. All of this clearly meant something to the Soldier if he had gone as far as enshrining it, and he was probing it. With his eyes rather than his hands, but it hardly made it less wrong.  
Before he could pull away, something else caught his attention; the black feather. It was almost as long as his forearm and looked all too familiar.  
Did it belong to Reaper? Why would the sheltered man own one?

Suddenly Hanzo became aware of a presence in his near and turned, only to find Soldier standing behind him. For someone of his girth, he was remarkably silent.  
“I was not going to touch or steal anything.” Hanzo immediately said, hoping he had not angered his host. He was definitely not as vulnerable than yesterday, but he was not in shape to take on a furious bear of a man with his bare hands.

“You are one curious cat aren't you?” Soldier groaned without the expected ire, his focus on the altar rather than the archer. “No wonder Jesse accepted to guide you around, you both have a knack for putting your nose in other people's business and get in tons of trouble.  
\- Pardon me for wanting to know more about the man who saved our lives.” Hanzo muttered, stepping aside to subtract himself from the man's field of view. But there was not enough room and he was left awkwardly standing by the wall, unsure he should force his way past the Soldier.

“I know you've got something to say.” The older man grunted after a few uncomfortable seconds. “Get over it and speak.”  
The archer raised an eyebrow; he had not expected the hermit to be this talkative. “This belongs to Reaper, does it not?” He asked, pointing at the feather. “Is he one of the men in this picture? Are you as well, or were you the one who took it?”  
The man briefly raised his shotgun and Hanzo thought he should have kept his questions to himself. But all Soldier did was holding it under his arm while he reached out for a lit candle. Then he took his time to light the ones that had gone out one by one, while Hanzo impassively waited for his answer.

“You've been here for such a short time and already you think you've got all the nooks and mysteries of this world figured out.” Soldier finally huffed as he put the candle back in place.  
“I can assure you that I have only very little knowledge of what is going on. I am only trying to make sense of what I have seen so far.” Hanzo replied as politely as he could. “I have been close enough to Reaper to tell that this feather belongs to him. Both of you protect Jesse, and he did mention that you two might have some kind of history. That is more than enough to make a plausible connection.”

Soldier turned his head to look at him for a few solid seconds, the archer staring back at the safety goggles. Then the man eventually stepped away from the altar in order to rest the shotgun on a crate full of bullets. Hanzo followed him, all too relieved to put some distance between the shrine and him.  
“To answer your questions, yes. I used to know this asshole back when he was alive and normal. Can’t say I like the way he is now, but rather that than him being dead.” Soldier grunted, his voice either low to avoid waking Jesse or strangled with emotions. Or perhaps both, it was impossible to tell.

“What happened?” Hanzo enquired. The hat full of holes put Reaper in the middle of a shooting; it could be the proof of his death, but it could also be the testament of a life full of battles.  
Soldier let out a long exhale. “Some bullshit happened. My man and I got roped in a shady scheme that didn’t turn out so good for all parties involved. I survived, he died… At least for a moment. But it felt real long.” He then paused, seemingly staring in the void.

Hanzo hesitantly stepped closer. “You are saying that Reaper is the reincarnation of a man?” He was about to add how that could be possible when Soldier spoke again:  
“There are some forces at work, unseen, supernatural forces. But I don’t think I need to tell you that.” He tilted his chin up at Hanzo’s tattoo, the dragon head on his wrist grimacing in the dim light. “What happened to my man was either a curse or a blessing. To this day I can't tell which it was, I'm just glad he's still around and himself on the inside.”

He turned his head to look at Jesse; the cowboy was still asleep, his snoring just a hint lighter. “If you do anything to Jesse, if you abandon him when things get too tough, if you throw him to the wolves to save your own skin, it's not the Wendigos you'll have to worry about when you come back here. Understood?” Soldier said, now facing Hanzo and subtly rolling his shoulders. Despite the thick lenses, the archer could feel a piercing glare studying his reaction.  
The mere implication of that he would pull treachery on Jesse made his skin crawl unpleasantly.  
“I swear that I have no intention to betray Jesse McCree. He is more than a hired gun or a simple guide to me.” He retorted fiercely, finding the courage to step closer to the taller man. “You have my word that I will fight for him and put my life on the line for his without a second thought.”

The Soldier did not seem angered by his aggressiveness. In fact, he actually sounded pleased when he spoke: “I’ll have to take your word on that Shimada. But if it turns out not to be worth a penny, you’ll be wishing these things had gone to you before I did.”  
Hanzo nodded. The threat could not be any clearer. “Jesse is lucky, to have you and Reaper as his guardian angels. Only an ignorant fool would dare come after him.” He sighed, fiddling with the bandage around his hand. It was starting to get loose now, the stained gauze turning into threads. “He told me you two helped him through rough times.  
\- We’re trying to be here for him. ‘S not always easy and there are times we can only do so much to help, but we do our best. Boy is all grown up now, yet he still needs us every now and then. But it's okay. We love him like our own, stray cowboy son, and we're always happy to help.  
\- He loves you too.” Hanzo let out as he unwounded the bandage from his healed palm. “He is grateful for your help, in his own way, and so am I. It seems that the two of us have a problem with admitting we needed the help.”  
The man let out a raspy noise that Hanzo identified as a chuckle. “I know. He thinks I can't tell, but I can. I don't see much anymore, but I'm not blind. He’s done some shit, but he's a good kid.”

There was a small pause, until the silence was cut by a big yawn coming from the bed; Jesse was awake, stretching his arms until his spine cracked loudly. “Mornin' y'all.” He mumbled, reaching under his chest plate to scratch his collarbone.  
“Good morning.” Hanzo smiled, just barely holding back a chuckle. Jesse looked like a bird fallen from the nest more than ever, his locks pointing in all directions.  
“Man this rug's about as comfy as the bare floor, but I slept somethin' fine! How 'bout you pardner?” The cowboy asked Hanzo while he put his missing boot on. It seemed that his ankle had also healed throughout the night.  
“It was… Fine.” Hanzo stumbled, keeping a straight face. It seemed Jesse had not noticed the cuddling after all.

“Coffee?” Soldier offered, moving to a bigger crate covered with a lace tablecloth. The tissue was full of holes and the yellowed lacework fraying into threads, but it still had a slight homey feel.  
“Coffee? Ya haven't offered me any in a while.” Jesse avowed as he sat down on a rickety chair by the 'table'. He balanced himself on the old feet and put his boots on the tablecloth.  
“Well you brought a friend, so I'd better get my game up if I want you two to drop by some other time.” Soldier replied, before he shoved Jesse's feet off the wooden surface. “Watch your manners, this isn't a Saloon.”  
The cowboy's seat tipped dangerously, but he managed to maintain his balance. “Oh golly I ain't sure I should accept. I mean, we probably overstayed our welcome an' all.” He exchanged a glance with Hanzo, who just shrugged in response.  
“What are a few minutes more?” He said as he sat down on a three-legged stool. The thing creaked so menacingly that the archer decided it was better if he did not rest his whole weight on it.  
Jesse sighed. “A'righty then. Do yer worst.” He added toward Soldier.  
“As usual.”

True to his word, Soldier proceeded to make the worst coffee Hanzo had ever tasted in his life. The whole preparation had taken almost an hour, during which the cowboy and him had studied the map. Although they had managed to chat the time away, it was still disheartening to have waited so long for something so _awful_.

To be fair the poor equipment at the older man's disposal did not exactly make things easy; the bag of coffee beans looked as old as the mining gear and the grain had most likely been exposed to humidity. All the hermit had was a pair of rocks for the grinding and a beaten, rusty pot for the brewing. At least the man had a spoon to keep most of the coffee grounds from falling into the mugs as he served it.

The resulting drink tasted so strong and bitter Hanzo felt like his entire mouth had turned into ashes. He would rather go through a whole pot of mustard, or eat an entire salad bowl of nattō, than take another sip of this foul concoction. If Soldier had told them he used coal instead of coffee, he would not have been surprised.

And he was not the only one reacting so strongly to it; Jesse almost spat the first sip out, and coughed after forcing himself to swallow it. “Y’alright?” He asked, a small laugh escaping him when he took in the face Hanzo was making.  
“I wish I had no tongue right now. Or even a mouth.  
\- Aw, an’ deprive the world of yer lovely voice?  
\- This is why I don't drink coffee.  
\- Honey this ain't coffee. It's vitriol an' dirt. How'd ya dose it Soldier?  
\- A pound of wet coffee in the pot, boiled for thirty minutes. Then I put a horseshoe in it. If it doesn't float, I add more coffee.  
\- Good grief, how come ya're still alive?  
\- Boy, this stuff is why the Wendigos never got my skin.  
\- Yeah right, I bet they don't wanna go near that stuff either. It'd probably kill 'em.  
\- Well I made it for you, so don't be ungrateful asses and finish your mugs. And don't you try pouring it on the floor, I am watching you.”

–

As despicable as the ink-dark liquid was, each sip brought clarity and boost. By the time Hanzo had managed to sip a third of the concoction, he felt ready for a new day.  
At least Soldier was kind enough to let them rinse their mouths with one last cup of water, after giving them quite a fright by offering a coffee refill.

“I've checked the shortcut entirely while you two were napping.” Soldier said as he handed Hanzo his bow and quiver. “It's pretty blocked alright, but the explosion created no breach. You'll be able to walk out of here safe and sound. You still know the way out, don't you Jesse?  
\- Yeah I do. Follow the rails, right?  
\- Yep. But don't you dare climb in the coal cart. I didn't fix your ankle so you can go and break your neck in these ramshackle things.  
\- Nah, I've had enough o' fun rides for the week.” Jesse winced as he fastened his holster over his hips.

Once they were ready to leave, Soldier handed them two lanterns. “These are a loan. I expect to find them properly put away in the crates at the exit and in good condition. Unlike the two you broke. My stock isn't unlimited and I can't exactly go in town to buy new ones.” The old man groaned.  
“Yeah yeah. Ain’t like we dropped 'em for shits an' giggle.” Jesse nodded dismissively, already lighting his. “Mine fell off 'cause the handle was rotten with rust. Hanzo's didn't survive a fall.  
\- Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely your fault. But still, be careful with these. And kiddo-  
\- No smokin', I know.” The cowboy cut, his impatience starting to show.  
But then Soldier rested a hand over his shoulder, making him look up. “Take care of yourself.” He simply said, giving the cowboy a quick embrace before he released him. “I'll kick your ass to the moon if you don't.”  
Jesse looked at him thoughtfully, then he cracked a small smile and patted the man's shoulder heartily. “I will. Thanks pops.”

Then Soldier moved over to Hanzo, approaching the archer so abruptly he braced himself. He was still expecting the tall man to suplex him for getting too close of his personal belongings.  
But all Soldier did was pulling a transfixed Hanzo into a half-hug, while Jesse stared in awe at the display.  
“Hey, Shimada. Be careful where you put your nose.” The hermit muttered with a hint of mirth, while Hanzo dared not to move. A firm slap on the back almost got him coughing, but he smothered it and awkwardly waited to be released.  
“Satisfaction does not always bring the cat back.”

–

“What the heck was that about?” Jesse asked once they were outside of Soldier's lair, back in a dark corridor. “That thing he told ya, 'bout the cat an' all.  
\- He caught me looking at his altar this morning.” Hanzo admitted after adjusting his bow over his back. “He was surprisingly civil about it, but something about him tells me that I was just lucky.  
\- Oh right, that thing. Yeah ya would've got it in the neck if he had been in a bad mood. But ya didn't touch a thing?  
\- No, I was not that reckless.  
\- That's good. This stuff looks like junk to the untrained eye, but it all means a great deal to Soldier.” Jesse muttered, pensively staring at the darkness up ahead. “The clothes, the photo, Reaper's feather, it's pretty damnin' evidence they knew each other back when they were humans. I mean, Reaper a human an' the Soldier less of a grumpy Care Bear. Makes ya wonder what kinda men they were before whatever happened to them happened.” He paused to adjust the Stetson over his messy hair and threw a sideway glance at Hanzo. “Did he brief ya on the story?  
\- He did, although he held back on details.” Hanzo replied, staring back at the cowboy in a similar fashion. “I do not blame him, I am a complete stranger after all.  
\- Ah, I wouldn't say that.” Jesse smiled, turning to face the archer. “He was mighty suspicious o' ya even after I told him who ya were an' what we were doin'. But between yesterday an' this mornin', he has warmed up to ya. Did ya talk it out?”

The vow Hanzo had made to Soldier echoed in his head and he looked away, his face warming up uncomfortably. “You might say that, yes.” He muttered, wondering if he had not been completely transparent back then. It was likely that the older man had seen right through him, which explained why he got around his suspicion and “warmed up” to him.  
Thankfully the Soldier had made no innuendoes about it, because Jesse would have assuredly picked up on them.

“Do you think the Soldier will be alright on his own?” Hanzo asked to defuse his discomposure. “He has been in this Mine for years, dealing with these Wendigos. His lover died and came back as a demonic owl trapped in one place. As lucid and grounded as he is, how can he stand it all?  
\- He jus'… He jus' does. Don't ya worry, he's a tough ol' nut.” Jesse smiled sympathetically. “I guess he had to deal with them bastards so often he sorta grew immune to it.”

'Immune. Or numb.' Hanzo thought. Immunity implied protection, shielding from the harm, while numbness meant depravation, taking blows until insensitivity settled in. It was a significant nuance and he did not know which one applied to the Soldier.  
Was the man a creation of his mind too somehow? Because it really started to feel like McCree was their origin, as he knew so much about them and Hanzo did not.  
This was all very perplexing.

Hanzo was so deep in his thoughts that he almost failed to notice the hand waving in front of him. He focused and caught the hazel eyes staring in his worryingly. “Y'alright there? Ya jus' stopped walkin'.  
\- My apologies, I lost myself in my thoughts and my head hurts a little.” Hanzo replied, rubbing his temple.  
McCree sympathetically patted his shoulder. “Hey, 's okay. I usually don't feel too good when I'm leavin' this place. Even when I take the shortcut, I know the Wendigos are crawlin' nearby. An' it's enough to make me feel queasy.  
\- Or it is the beverage we drank that is going up to my head.  
\- Yeah, can't say it couldn't be that.”

–

Making their way out of the mine was a piece of cake after going through the long way. The ground was a bit less forgiving, but they did not have to worry about nightmarish beings lurking in the dark and took their time to make it through narrow spaces and intricate bridges.

Even though they were safe, Hanzo remained tensed and jumpy. He still saw things moving in the shadows, his eyes playing tricks on him. He also perked up occasionally to make sure he had not heard any suspicious sounds, but it was often just gravel falling or a drop of water hitting the ground hard. Sometimes wind blew into the caverns, always unannounced and always startling.  
As for McCree, he seemed far calmer than the ball of nerves that had led Hanzo into the dark depths of the Mine. He did reach for his holster time to time, his fingers lingering over the grip of the gun for a few seconds. But it was reassuring in a way; with a clear-minded and alert Jesse, Hanzo felt much safer.

They were trudging up a rather steep corridor when something happened. Jesse was leading, Hanzo right behind him. The cowboy had turned his head midway to tell his partner something and froze like a deer in headlights, staring at him with a mixture of marvel and fear.  
“Uuuuhm Hanzo? Don't wanna alarm ya or anythin', but ya've got blue snakes 'round yer neck.”

The archer halted too, unsure he had heard the cowboy right. What on Earth was he talking about?  
He did not have to wait long for an answer. Something slithered on his collarbone and he urgently looked down, expecting an actual snake to take a bite out of him.

What he saw gave him more stupefaction than horror or enchantment; the snake was actually a little dragon. Its slim body was about the size of a ferret, the scales a beautiful blue, the fur decorating its back a powerful yellow, and the delicate horns ornamenting its skull jade-like. It. It looked identical to the dragon depicted on his arm and the massive beasts that had saved Jesse from the Wendigos, except far less ferocious and much smaller in size.  
Hanzo felt something else brush his neck and he carefully put his lantern down before he reached out to grab it. When he pulled his hand away, he had another little dragon rolled around his wrist, exactly identical to the one nuzzling its muzzle against his shoulder. He had not felt them appear, his entire focus centered on making his way up the difficult path and the little creatures lighter than a feather.

The dragon Hanzo was holding screeched in protest, catching his thumb between its jaws and biting down on it so hard wrinkles appeared on its elongated head. The archer braced for pain, but all he felt was a faint prickling in his finger; it was as if the little being's fangs were ghosting through his skin.  
In fact, the two dragons seemed less solid than he first thought them to be, their bodies slightly transparent and glowing.

As the one biting him made a tiny snarl, Hanzo let out a gentle shush before remembering he was dealing with some sort of spirit, possibly a deity, and not a prissy cat. But that seemed to do the trick; the dragon released his thumb and lazily uncoiled from around his wrist, to settle on his forearm instead. McCree was in awe, his wide eyes practically shining as he stared at the dragons.  
“Butter me up an' put me in a toaster.” He guffawed incredulously, stepping closer to Hanzo so he could get a better look at the fantastic creatures. “If that ain't somethin' special right there! How d'ya do that even? Ya haven't said a word an' ya sure as hell didn't shoot any arrows jus' now.  
\- I do not know Jesse, I did not even realize they were here until you noticed. Hell, I did not know I could summon dragons until two days ago.  
\- Isn't that the Shimada bloodline power or what not ya told me 'bout on the broken Plate? The great Dragons?  
\- Yes, that is right.” Hanzo whispered while gathering both dragons in his arms. He was simply flabbergasted that using the stories about Dragons to justify his falling from the sky into the desert had led to this happening. Maybe he did have the ability to actively influence his dreams after all? It was hard to believe when he had never once wished to summon actual dragons or have miniature versions of them randomly showing up.  
It had to be all an unconscious process.

But Jesse payed no mind to his utter confusion, instead cooing at the little dragons. “Look at this li'l bundle o' noodles ya got there, ain't they jus' precious? Gosh I jus' wanna pet 'em.” Before Hanzo could dissuade him, the cowboy approached his metallic hand. Unfortunately for him, the two beings did not take kindly to the gesture and got ahold of his fingers in their maws and claws.

“Got a feelin' that they don't like me very much.” Jesse said, his smile slowly degrading into a contrite frown.  
“Well you just called them noodles, I do not think it was very respectful.” Hanzo replied, finding hard not to openly smile at his partner's foolishness.  
“Ah! Says the one who called me Macaroni cowboy an' cowman some time ago.” Jesse quipped after an overplayed snort. “Well, would ya kindly ask 'em to release me? I don't wanna pull back an' risk gettin' dents on the metal. If these li'l guys are half as powerful as the big guys, then I don't feel like losin' all o' my fingers.”

Hanzo scowled at the two dragons until they stared back at him. “Cease.” He scolded them. Even though he doubted they would injure Jesse after saving his skin, he had to show firmness over the two divinities.  
The dragons seemed reluctant to obey at first, but they eventually bowed to his insistent glare. They released Jesse's hand then made a show of stretching lazily and rubbing their heads against Hanzo's chest.  
So they did act a little cat-like, how odd.

“Cute li'l critters still.” Jesse chuckled after checking his fingers for damage. “I dunno 'bout ya, but I find hard to believe that these are the same beasties that sent the Wendigos back to the hole they crawled out of. Why are they so tiny now?  
\- Considering the amount of energy it took out of me to summon them, this could be a simplified shape for them to appear as they please.” Hanzo thought out loud as he cradled the dragons.  
“Uh. D'ya reckon they'll stay with us all the way? They're pretty cool an' glowy.” Jesse hummed as he reached out for the dragons more cautiously. This time they did not lash out, instead letting the cowboy scratch their heads and pet their backs.

“I am not sure.” Hanzo replied. “It seems I am their vessel, their link to manifest on Earth.”  
Upon these words, the dragons climbed up Hanzo's arm and ghosted through the skin, the tattoo briefly becoming warmer until they had both disappeared. The archer slightly rolled his sleeve up to see the ink glowing with a faint blue, until it died down.  
“Well, I hope yer dragons will come back next time we're in a pickle.” Jesse sighed hopefully. “Don't think anyone would ever dare come after us after seein' them in action.  
\- I wish the same, but I would not count on it. I can hardly recall summoning them, and making them appear at will would surely take tremendous amounts of energy.” Hanzo replied, crouching to pick up his lantern. “Besides, had the Dragons let us do as we pleased with these powers, our ruling would have extended to the entire world a long time ago. Like humans, we are naturally flawed; where there is a righteous one that will remain humble, there will be ten demeaning the powerless and twenty more blinded by greed and ambitions. And a handful of virtuous individuals is not enough to keep an entire race from tearing itself apart.  
\- That ain't a very optimistic vision o' humanity or yer kin.” Jesse deadpanned.  
“I was brought up in a powerful family fighting to stay on top of the others. Not exactly an environment where optimism is favorable. After my exile however, I have met people who made me reconsider my vision of the world.” Hanzo said contemplatively. “For your information, I consider you as one of them now.” He added as he pursued the ascension up the steep slope. “The virtuous ones.”

With a warm grin, Jesse tipped his hat at the archer. “Glad to know I'm on the good team.” He chuckled as he trudged along. “I gotta ask though, were yer relatives capable o' summonin' dragons?  
\- Uh-it was a matter of worth among our family. Some could, some could not.” Hanzo quickly improvised. “If one is not worthy of the Dragons, they will never manifest themselves to this person. It is necessary to prove oneself in order to obtain their aid. And one cannot always rely on them to solve problems.  
\- Ya're right, we can't be slackin' up. Plus it'd be borin' if the stuff we faced could be all solved in three clicks of the heels.”  
This time it was Hanzo who stopped, a critical eyebrow quirked up. “This is an idiom I am sure I have never heard.” And he was very sure of it, because he had searched for all the idioms involving feet over one line in a novel he had agonized over. “Did you make it up?  
\- It's a Wizard of Oz reference.” Jesse shrugged. When Hanzo stayed silent, he tilted his head inquisitively. “Ya never saw it? With the lion an' scarecrow an' tin man an'… An' I'm guessin' that face means no. So ya had books but no TV up 'ere.  
\- Indeed. It sounds quite special though.  
\- Yep, 's pretty old too. The heel thing is that, to make it short, there's this li'l girl called Dorothy. She's taken away from her home by a tornado an' lands in another world. She gets magic shoes that could've got her back home like, minutes after she left. But Dorothy doesn't know that, so she goes through an entire journey. An' only at the end does she find out that by clickin' her heels three times with the special shoes, she can return home.  
\- But what was the point of the journey then? I suppose it must have been dangerous.  
\- Well yeah. But I reckon a journey ain't pointless or too dangerous the moment ya find out things 'bout yerself. 'Sides what's the point if she'd returned home right away? The movie would've ended in ten minutes an' she wouldn't have seen all the things that world had to show.  
\- I see. And what did this Dorothy learn about herself?”  
Jesse nibbled on his bottom lip, frowning as he tried to recall. “Been ages since I last saw it, but I do remember somethin' 'bout how there's no place like home. But my main point is that it's best to work for answers an' earn 'em rather than hopin' they'll drop right in the beak.”

Hanzo absently nodded, lost in thought as he followed Jesse up the corridor. The cowboy's words echoed insistently in his head.  
There is no place like home.  
In the first difficult year following their departure from Hanamura, with Genji being a difficult teenager and his struggle to get a correct income, he would have clicked these heels in a wink.  
But now he would never return. He surely would destroy these damn shoes without any remorse.

–

After the slope, they took another corridor that thankfully was not as uneven. The ceiling was low however, and they both had to bend down in order to stay clear from it. Hanzo felt rather silly doing a duck walk, but he preferred that over slamming his head into every single stalactite.

“Hey Han'?” Jesse asked out of the blue, his voice a little strained by the awkward position. “Back then, when the Wendigos attacked us, I heard ya call for someone. Ginny I think?”

The sudden question took Hanzo aback. His mind ground to a halt, but he kept on going nonetheless. He did not want to stay in this exiguous passage longer than necessary. “It was Genji. So what?” He flatly asked.  
“Who's Genji if I may ask? Is he the one ya care about?” The cowboy queried, speaking softly as if he was afraid of offending him.  
'That is none of your business' Hanzo was going to say out of reflex. But he stopped himself just in time; he had told Jesse so many personal things, it was simply absurd to hide the existence of his little brother. “I will tell you, but only if you tell me more about yourself.” He finally replied, throwing a look at Jesse.

“Sounds like a fair trade to me. Deal.” The cowboy nodded, before ducking furthermore when the ceiling dipped lower.  
Hanzo waited until they were past it before answering the sensitive question. “Genji is indeed the person I care for the most.” He said after swallowing thickly. “He is my little brother, and the only family I have left.  
\- A li'l dragon bro? That's cool!” Jesse beamed, before he frowned. “Why ain't he with ya? Don't tell me he's-  
\- No, no. He is alive. In a coma, but alive. I am the one who put him there.”  
Saying these words made his heart hurt, but it also gave him the same relief he had felt whenever he opened up to the cowboy.

Jesse almost stumbled at the revelation and Hanzo looked away, arching his back to ease his aching spine. “It was an accident, for which I bear all the responsibility. Thus why the blame is on me.” He explained so the cowboy would not get the wrong idea.  
“Shoot darlin', I'm sorry.” Jesse murmured without a trace of disgust or judgement in his eyes.  
“Do not be, it was not your fault. Your turn now.  
\- Well uh, that was pretty heavy, I'm not sure how I can top it off.” The cowboy chuckled joylessly. Then he knocked his prosthetic arm, the metallic clang resonating on the rocky walls. “Guess I'll tell you 'bout this.”

Hanzo hesitated, both eager to know and reluctant to know more. “You do not have to if this is too intrusive.” He replied, awkwardly reaching out to cup Jesse's shoulder. “I mean, you did say you told a different story every time someone asks you. The only reason you would do such a thing is that you either do not remember, or wish not to tell what really happened.  
\- Naw, 's a'right. I don't blame ya for bein' curious 'bout it, an' it's only fair I returned the favor after ya satisfied my own curiosity.” The cowboy replied.

He took a deep breath, then started his tale: “So, here's how I lost my arm. I’d jus’ turned seventeen. Deadlock, the gang I used to be a part of, was goddam vicious an' violent. We did some unlawful shit, the list ya saw my Wanted poster doesn't even cover it all.”  
Hanzo nodded; he remembered the mugshot, the young famished face with haunting eyes, and the incredibly long list of crimes.

“I didn't do all o' that though. Jus' 'cause I was the sole survivor o’ the gang, the authorities decided to pin pretty much all o' the crimes they could tie to Deadlock on my back. If they can't make the dead pay, they put it on the livin'.  
But I didn't run shit, I was jus' a low-ranked sharpshooter. A damn good sharpshooter, but I never stepped up the ladder ‘cause I was one mouthy brat. Sure I respected the top guys, but I sure as hell didn't kiss asses.”  
He swallowed again, switching arms to hold his lantern out. “I still did some bad things Hanzo, lotsa bad things. Got to a point I couldn’t stand lookin' at my own reflection an' started questionin' my loyalty to this 'family' an' my values. Eventually I decided to quit an' leave before I became a numb dog, start afresh somewhere far from this hell. So I quietly plotted my way outta the gang.”

A draft whistled through the narrow corridor, making the cowboy pause. Then he picked up where he stopped as if nothing had happened.  
“The problem was, ya couldn't drop out o' Deadlock without payin' for the exit with yer life. I joined 'em 'cause my mama was raisin’ me on her own an' workin' herself down to the bone jus' to provide for us both. I never thought 'bout what would come after. Believed she'd be better off without me pullin' her down.  
I planned my exit for months. I thought I had everythin' in control, but I didn't. There's somethin' I hadn't taken in account, idiot that I was, an' that somethin' threw a big ol' monkey wrench in my plan.”  
He stopped moving to look down, Hanzo halting by his side. Jesse was pale and his eyes were shimmering at the light of the lantern, but his voice was resolute when he spoke:  
“I was alone against a bunch o' ruthless dogs armed to the teeth. They didn't even give me the chance o' fightin' back. I was gonna be hanged for my betrayal, but they thought it was funnier to mutilate me first. Would've been too kind to off me right away. Funnily enough, that's also what saved my life. The cavalry arrived before they could get to the hangin'. All hell broke loose an' I somehow survived that.  
My ma died on that same day. Lost both my arm an' my only family in one day, an' I couldn't stop it.”

Hanzo's blood turned cold. A distant memory of a blood trail on a tatami resurfaced and he swallowed it back. “I am terribly sorry for your loss.” He whispered remorsefully. “I cannot pretend that I have been through the same thing, but I know how you feel.  
\- Ya do? How so?  
\- I did not witness the act, nor the moment she took her last breath, but my mother was assassinated in our own house. I was so young, I could not have stopped it. But I still feel I should have foreseen it somehow.  
\- Same.” Jesse sniffed, rapidly blinking. He turned his head away briefly, most likely to wipe his eyes. But when he looked back at Hanzo, he seemed at peace. “I was devastated back then, carried the guilt an' dwelled on it till I finally admitted there was nothin' I could've done. I still miss her nowadays, but I'm also relieved that she’s restin'. She ain't sufferin’ where she is, an' she didn't have to see me in my lowest times. I wonder if she’d be proud o’ me now.  
\- Well, you pulled through this tragedy, worked on the right side of the law and helped the ones in need. From my point of view, you turned out to be someone good. That is something any mother would be proud of.  
\- I appreciate the feelin' sweetheart, I really do. Thanks a bunch.” Jesse smiled earnestly.

In spite of the sinister tone of their conversation, Hanzo felt much lighter afterward.

–

It was not until they exited the small corridor that the archer realized he was no longer bothered by the pet names Jesse gave him.  
“There ya go honey.” The cowboy had fondly said as he helped Hanzo up  
“Thank you Jesse.” Hanzo had replied, appreciating his gallantry and relieved they were out of the tight space.

The noun had risen no discomfort whatsoever; the only reason he had noticed its use had been the expecting look on Jesse's face, the cowboy apparently waiting for him to say something. As Hanzo had remained speechless, Jesse had tipped his hat with a smile.  
“Ya're welcome darlin'.” He had said before leading the way through the larger cavity.

Either these names were growing on Hanzo, or it was Jesse that was growing on him. He was not sure which one was the most likely, and which he would want to be the most likely.

Maybe he had misheard at first, understood 'Hanzo' instead of 'honey'. But the 'darling' was hard to ignore, for it had not caused a single speck of anger or annoyance to flare within him.  
However he knew he would not tolerate that kind of talk from anyone else. So that ruled option one and left him before the damning conclusion that he was developing a soft spot for none other than Jesse Justice McCree.


	31. The Horse Hills pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "warning" : this chapter contains teaching on how to ride a horse. My personal experience being sitting on a pony and falling off the pony, the teaching will be pretty darn vague and most likely inaccurate. Thank y'all for your understanding ʕ･ᴥ･;ʔ
> 
> Alternate titles:  
> \- There Is Almost No Angst Here I Promise  
> \- Fanservice pt.1  
> \- Finally Some Romance pt.1  
> \- The Gay Hills pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody ₊*ʕˊॢo̶̶̷̤ᴥo̶̶̷̤ˋॢʔ*₊˚
> 
> Firstly, a billion thank you to all of you, whether you are new here or regulars! Y'all mean a lot to me, and your kudos and comments got my motivation going all throughout the writing ❤⃛ヾʕ๑❛ ᴥ ◠๑ʔ
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay and I must warn y'all that we're now in the least planned part of the fic (which is pretty much the 50% left of the storyline I wrote). I ask for your patience and understanding if I'm slow to update ʕ´ᴥ`✿̶̥̥ʔ
> 
>  
> 
> [Anyways, here are the couple doods I made to go with the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/170770300701/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-appeared-hey)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this new entry! ⁽⁽٩ʕ๑˃̶͈̀ ᴥ ˂̶͈́ʔ۶⁾⁾

**– Tuesday night**

“[… Just like Soldier assured us, we met no Wendigos on the way out. There were a few difficult passages to cross, such as a mouse hole we had to crawl through, a hall full of large gaps in the ground and a very slippery corridor that forced us to cling to each other all the way. With the exception of these parts, making our way out of the depths was utterly uneventful. Almost ridiculous peaceful compared to the drastic danger we faced.  
I was not at peace as far as I was concerned; I craved to leave behind the claustrophobic Mine, the stinging souvenir of these twisted creatures and the sadness our revelations brought on. But as odd as it was to tell Jesse about Genji with as few details as possible, it did feel a little liberating.

We only made one brief stop, a few minutes at most to regain some stamina after doing some climbing. I must say I am proud of Jesse, for he was confident enough to go first and managed to reach the top of the wall without my help.  
Of course I must be entirely honest and mention that it was the easiest wall we ever had to climb. It was about a few meters high, and the rock formation resembled a staircase built by an inebriated architect. But it does not make his efforts any less honorable, or his smug happiness less endearing.

As we got closer and closer to the exit, so close that darkness started giving way to sunlight, I could finally breathe normally again…]

The moment Hanzo saw the daylight shyly enlightening the turn ahead of them, he allowed himself to exhale out of relief. He had no idea what time it was and how much time had gone by since they had left the safety of Soldier’s ‘home’, but there was one thing he had no doubt about; they had here long enough.  
“Yeah I second that.” Jesse huffed in response to his heavy sigh. “We both could use a blast o’ fresh air an’ light.” He grinned, turning a small valve at the base of his lantern. The flame diminished, but the clarity sustained. The exit had to be within their grasp.

In fact it was literally right around the corner, barred by a gridded gate quite similar to the one at the entrance of the Mine. Sunlight was pouring in, subdued as it filtered through the unsettled dust and the wire mesh. The wind coming in no longer bore a musty smell, instead bringing cool air and a light smell of pollen.  
After putting their lanterns away, Jesse and Hanzo went on a search for the key to unlock the gate. It took little time however, for it was stored in plain sight rather than artfully hidden inside a skull.

“Why was the key to the entrance so hard to find when this one is within everybody's reach?” Hanzo frowned as he retrieved the key from a rusty hook on the wall.  
“Well, since the Wendigos ain't capable of unlockin' doors, Soldier doesn't give a damn 'bout who leaves the Mine. However he wants nobody to come in 'ere an' go take a stroll in the depths when they should be usin' the shortcut. So he makes it hard for the peeps outside to find the key, while he makes it easy for those already inside. On the other side o' that gate, the key's probably under one o' these rugs, in a box o' nails or inside a skull like at the entrance.  
\- I suppose it works against people who do not know any better, or are too curious for their own good.” Hanzo replied, aware that he was part of both categories.

He handed the key over to Jesse, who stepped aside and extended his arm toward the gate. “Honor's yers.” He grinned with a ridiculously courteous bow. “I let us in, ya let us out.”  
Hanzo was almost certain that touching the barricade would give him tetanus, but he did not protest, too eager to be back outside. He jammed the key into the lock, briefly struggled with the uncooperative mechanism, then unceremoniously kicked the unlocked door open.  
“After you.” He told Jesse after poorly mimicking his reverence.

The cowboy put the key back in place, then walked passed Hanzo with a slight limp. The rather sportive walk was not exactly recommended when recovering from an ankle sprain. Even though Jesse was walking fine on his own, he should probably be resting some more.  
Hanzo felt a pang of regret, associated with a familiar guilt. Going through here had gotten his partner hurt, and it was a price too high to pay for some time saved.

For once his self-blame was confronted with a tough adversary; Jesse's wise words, which Hanzo had not forgotten despite the cold spell he had been dealing with.  
_“Stop talkin' as if ya were responsible of every piece o' dust in the Desert.”_ Even though he was the one who had initiated this quest, it did not make him responsible of the entire trip and every hardship they met on the way.  
_“Chain more boulders to yer ankles an' ya won't even be able to move.”_ The remorse weighed him down, both physically and mentally. If he dreaded too deep in a guilt trip, he would simply stop being functional.  
_“Unless ya're a God in the flesh, ya can't control what's fate an' what's due to chance.”_  
Since he had no active control on his dreams, he could only stop blaming himself, learn from his mistake and focus on what was ahead of them. He could not anticipate what awaited them, but he was going to face it all whether he was ready or not.

“Hanzo, ya're comin'?”  
The archer raised his head; Jesse was standing still a few steps away, looking back at him and waiting. The light framed his robust body and the wind made his serape slightly fly like the cape of a superhero posing on the roof of a building.  
Hanzo shook his head and smiled. “Yes.” He replied, closing the gate behind him before he rejoined his partner. “I was merely reflecting on something.”  
Jesse put an arm around his back and gave his shoulder a hearty slap. “Don't dwell on the past too hard yeah? We'll do better next time we go through 'ere.  
\- I have no doubt we will.”

[… My first steps outside were not as enjoyable as I was hoping, for a few days in the dark left me as blind as a bat. The sun was already high in the sky, its rays hurting my eyes to the point I had to keep them shut. It was as if spending time in the Mine had turned me into one of these creatures that was not meant to be in the light, pale and unseeing.

While I was getting accustomed to it, Jesse lent me aid and guided me down the rocky path. The contact of his hand around mine could not have felt more natural and reassuring. It is as if a switch has been flipped somewhere along our journey through the Mine.  
He even offered I wore his hat, but I declined; as inconvenient as the sunlight was, I wanted to feel it on my skin. And the Stetson is an item the cowboy has a strong attachment to; I do not feel worthy of wearing it after suggesting we abandoned it in the swamp.  
Nonetheless I am touched. Had I known from the beginning that there was a gentleman with a heart of gold under his roguish, crass demeanor, I certainly would not have treated him with so much disdain.  
Should I ever write a poem about Jesse McCree, this is definitely a line I ought to remember.

Once my eyes had gotten used to the light, the sight that was offered to them was quite a handsome reward…]

“Behold, the Horse Hills.” Jesse grinned widely as Hanzo blinked, taking in the incredible scenery.

Hills of luxurious grass, fields of flowers and clear ponds stretched beyond the horizon, like an infinite sea of colors, mainly emerald green spotted with vibrant yellow, soft orange, coral pink and delicate blue. A few white clouds slowly drifted in the sky, while a soft breeze made the grass ripple like water. Scarce bushes and trees were scattered across the scenery. In this extraordinary grassland, wild horses and foals were standing around, grazing, resting or simply standing and wiping the air with their tail.  
Hanzo had to remember how to breathe again, stunned and revived by such beauty. This place seemed out of time and out of place, contrasting with the dry and wild outback between the canyons and the broken Plate. Even the majestic mountain chain standing behind them with its snowy peaks had nothing on the undulating plain.

Jesse stretched his arms with a pleased groan, then he turned to face Hanzo. “Pretty ain't it?” He grinned casually. There were no traces of the stress on his face, his cheeks already regaining colors.  
Hanzo did not answer, mesmerized by the heavenly scenery and Jesse's smile. The red of the cowboy's serape made him stand out almost more than the dark blue of his outfit, and yet he completed the charm of this place.  
'Incredibly pretty.' He wanted to sigh. But he feared he would ridicule himself by sounding like a love-struck hobbledehoy.  
“Yes it is.” He affirmed instead, although allowing himself a gentle smile.

When the two of them walked down the rocky slope and set a foot in the grass, the horses looked up in unison. Hanzo stopped on his tracks and reached out for Jesse's arm, unsettled by the abrupt alertness. Were these animals dangerous somehow? Could they still see them if they remained still?  
They had just gone through a mine populated with terrifying beings, the last thing he wanted was to deal with aggressive horses.

But Jesse did not seem put-off one bit, patting Hanzo's hand then reaching out for his Stetson. He took it off and waved it in the general direction of the horses.  
“What are you doing?” Hanzo hissed through his teeth, trying to grab the cowboy's other arm. “You are giving us away!  
\- I’m jus' sayin' hi, ain’t no harm in that.” Jesse replied, putting the hat back on his head before Hanzo could catch it.  
“Are you not worried it will startle them? Sis is remarkably smart, I will admit as much. These horses however? They are feral and I would appreciate not been trampled to death for intruding their territory.  
\- Don’t worry darlin’, they ain’t hostile. They’ll sure kick yer ass if ya try anythin’ fishy, but I doubt ya’d do somethin’ like that.”

The waving actually had a positive effect on the horses; most of them went back to eating, while the closest ones gingerly approached, head bobbing at the rhythm of their walk.  
Their height made Hanzo all the more uneasy. They were much taller and larger than Sis, their muscles rippling under their skin and their hooves as large as a human head. As for the cowboy, he was completely in his element, caressing the horses who ducked their heads to be in his reach and chuckling warmly. “The Giant Horses's Hills I used to call it. But it was a bit of a tongue twister so I jus’ shortened it to Horse Hills. Ya ain't gonna see finer beasties outside o' this place.”

Something bumped against Hanzo's head and he quickly recoiled before the white horse that had snuck up to him could start chomping down on his hair. It had curled its upper lip back, giving him a good look at its front teeth and pink gums.  
“Relax scaredy-cat, that filly ain't gonna do a thing to ya.” Jesse said, watching the scene with an unveiled amusement. “We're comin' in peace an' so are they.  
\- Did you not see it- _her_ trying to take a bite at me?” Hanzo retorted, stepping away furthermore as the young horse attempted to approach him again  
“I saw, but she was jus' flehmin' ya honey.  
\- I do not know what that means. All I know is that I have seen her teeth from too close and I do not want her to take as much as a nimble of my hair.” The archer quipped as he kept on backing away from the horse. Still she meekly followed, more intrigued by Hanzo’s strange behavior than aggressive.

The dance was only stopped when Jesse moved behind Hanzo and let him bump into him. The cowboy then immediately rested his hands over the archer's shoulders to keep him grounded, nodding toward the filly. “Look at her, she ain’t a rabid dog.” He smiled, putting his mirth aside to reassure his concerned partner. “Ya're new here, she's jus' curious an' wants to smell ya. If ya don't let her, I predict she'll bug ya till ya let her.  
\- Ah, I wonder who she takes after.” Hanzo scoffed, reluctantly staying by Jesse's side as the horse approached. After taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stand still while the curious creature huffed warm air against his locks. He expected the filly to dig into his hair any time.

Against all odds, nostrils bumped against his jaw, the horse now nudging his face with its pink muzzle. Hanzo blinked, thoroughly confused and obligated to admit that maybe he had overreacted to an attempt of equine socialization.  
To be fair, he had never approached a horse outside of this realm.  
“Ain't that adorable, she likes ya!” The cowboy beamed, stepping from behind Hanzo and patting the horse's neck. “She's scratchin' her nose 'gainst yer face to make friends.  
\- Or she is letting me know that I should shave.  
\- Well she ain't complainin'. Anyway ya can pet her now if ya'd like.  
\- And why would I want to do that?” Hanzo frowned, taking in the grass stains and the dust darkening the white coat of the horse.  
“Well she's welcomin' ya here an' all, so a thank ya's the very least ya could do.” Jesse pointed out. “Don't be shy, she sure ain't gonna bite now.  
\- Ah, because she was _gonna_ before?  
\- Well, if a complete stranger had gone to ya an' done the same, whaddya think ya would've done? ‘Sides horses are real anxious beasties, they see danger in anythin' that moves. Took ‘em a while to see me as a friend an’ all I ever did was walkin’ among ‘em with Sis. Her presence sure helped 'em warm up to me.”

Hanzo hesitantly approached his hands and immediately shied away when the filly jerked. “I do not think she wishes an actual relationship.  
\- Naw, 's just that ya're comin' at her from her dead angle. Move a bit on the side, stay slow an' everythin' will be fine.” Jesse cautioned, staying by the horse's side. “Don't panic, I'm right 'ere an' I'll calm her if she freaks out.”  
Hanzo obliged, staring back at the horse as he stepped aside. He could actually see his own reflection into the dark eye, slightly distorted and blinking unsurely.

In a slow, calculated move, Hanzo cupped the horse's jowl and slowly rubbed it. Having never made real contact with Sis before, he found the experience quite interesting; the hairs were short and coarse beneath his finger pads, the skin underneath taut and thick.  
The horse blinked at him, then its ears tilted up and it slightly pressed back against his hand. Jesse was looking at them from the other side of the horse with a big grin on his face, looking so goofily happy that Hanzo could not help but smile back at him.  
“Looks like ya're fully adopted now!” He proclaimed with a tilt of the Stetson toward Hanzo.  
“Maybe we will be braiding each other's hair and trading secrets by the end of the day.” The archer jested with a smirk, while brushing the filly's soft muzzle with renewed confidence.  
“I think she'd have a hard time doin' that, but I could do it for ya.” Jesse winked, before he suddenly added: “How ‘bout ya hop on one of 'em an’ I’ll teach ya how to ride? I'll be fun!”

The moment these words were uttered, the smile drained from Hanzo's face dramatically fast, replaced with a concerned frown. “I will never agree to such a thing.” He announced adamantly.  
His prompt refusal did not leave a dent in Jesse's sudden enthusiasm. “C'mon darlin', it'd be a shame not to try.  
\- Jesse, Sis is what I define as tall. These, they are herculean in comparison!” Hanzo hissed, waving at the little group that had gathered around them to observe the display. Outside of the foals and ponies, all the horses towered over them. “And without your wonderhorse, we have none of the equipment required for a comfortable experience.”  
Jesse put his hands on his hips, the stern position contradicted by an engaging smile. “Hanzo I've seen ya climb higher rocky walls with yer bare hands an' feet. What's the worst that could happen?  
\- A bad fall, a fractured bone, a broken neck, a hoof crushing my skull, death. Should I go on or did you get my point?  
\- The ground's too soft to break a bone, an' these beasties ain't gonna stomp on ya! Have some faith in us Han', pretty please.” For empathize, Jesse pressed his cheek against one horse's and pulled his best puppy eyes at Hanzo.

Even though the archer was facing a scruffy thirty-something cowboy, the hazel eyes turning glassy and the bottom lip poking out in an exaggerated pout made his heart fluttered in his ribcage. How dared Jesse make such a pleading face at him?  
The archer had believed he would never be weak to doe eyes after building up immunity to Genji’s, but right now it was turning out not to be true.  
“If you send the horse I will be sitting on racing without warning me, I swear I will staple you to the nearest tree.” He eventually decided after a half-hearted groan.  
His growing anticipation was briefly soothed by the cheer Jesse made.

[… If sitting on a saddled horse is awkward enough, sitting on a wild, bareback and much taller horse is, awful pun attended, a horse of a different color.

While Jesse did not assigned me with the tallest horse around, he sure picked an impressive stallion; an Appaloosa with a spotty coat, which Jesse indicated was a Leopard pattern. Personally, I think it looks more like what would happen if a Dalmatian wished upon a shooting star to become a horse.  
I suppose the cowboy did not point me to a pony either in worry I would feel insulted, or because I would be too heavy for one. Now I wish he had. This tall quadruped, which Jesse nicknamed ‘Cow’ (“when he neighs, it sounds like he's goin' moo”), makes the ground seem awfully far. When the cowboy politely offered he gave me a little boost, I accepted without bothering to argue. My being shorter and less used to horses than Jesse are facts, it would be silly to dispute them.

Speaking of saddle, I had not realized how comfortable it was to have one until I was awkwardly straddling Cow's bony back, fighting to preserve my balance and relax as much as I could to avoid unnecessary muscular tension.  
Although I excelled at doing the first, I have been unable to accomplish the second and remained tensed the entire time…]

Once Hanzo was up there, he stood a few seconds before he faltered and leaned forward to hold onto Cow's neck, gripping fistfuls of dark mane. Dignity was forgone, only survival mattered.  
He knew this situation was somewhat absurd. He was impervious to heights, thus being on top of a wild stud should not be that much of a challenge for him. Except it was, and he wished he could step down right now.

As Hanzo's current ordeal was not bad enough, Jesse climbed over the horse's croup and took a seat on the loin. The archer sat up straight in surprise, only to have his back pressing against a hard chest.  
The cowboy was _right behind him_.  
“Don't worry, we'll take it step by step.” Jesse hummed dangerously close to Hanzo's ear, gutsily resting his hands over the archer's forearms. “Release his mane, I've got ya. If ya accidentally pull on it, he'll toss about.”  
The archer did everything in his power not to shiver, stiff as a board and electrified by the closeness of their bodies. This was far more overwhelming than a hug. “You are awfully close.” He mumbled under his breath, his voice nearly cracking.  
“Sorry, ain’t much room ‘ere.” Jesse replied sheepishly, patting over Hanzo's arms. “Do ya want me to step down? I can walk by yer side if-  
\- No, stay.” Hanzo hastily retorted. “It is fine, I was-I was merely caught off-guard. At least I will take you down with me if I fall.”

–

After that the awkwardness of such closeness had passed, Jesse threw himself into a lengthy explanation as to how he should handle the horse, direct it and order it around. Even though the herd populating the hills would tolerate their presence, wild horses would not take kindly to being treated like domesticated mounts.  
Hanzo had honestly no intention to ride a horse outside of his dreams, but he hanged on the cowboy's every words. Anything that could make this experience go any smoother was welcome.

“I usually ride for a while jus' to clear my mind an' enjoy myself. Helps gettin' over the Mine.” He said as he coaxed Cow into walking slowly. “It's a good feelin', an' I wanna share that with ya.”  
That gave Hanzo the motivation to bravely confront the challenge.  
Of course he could have demanded to stop and step down. Jesse was stubborn, but he was also understanding. However he was so eager and earnest to teach Hanzo, it only made it harder to consider putting an end to the lesson.

The slow walk was easier than Hanzo had anticipated, as he managed to conserve a good balance and slightly unwind. But when Cow started trotting, his whole body clamped onto the horse in order not to slide down. Now he regretted his being so weak to Jesse's kindness.  
“Relax yer back darlin', jus' squeeze his sides with yer legs an' keep yer hands on his withers. Hold onto his mane if ya really have to, but you’ll be fine.  
\- I swear that if I die from this, I will definitely come back to haunt you. Not just on Christmas, but every single day of your life!”

–

By the end of the day, the archer still did not master the trotting, and he was so tired he did nothing to hold himself when his body slipped off the horse.  
Thankfully Jesse had come down first and hurried to catch him in his arms. “Y’alright there?” He asked, fretting over Hanzo as he tried to get the limp archer on his feet.  
“My arms are going to fall off and everything below my navel is unresponsive.” Hanzo grunted, too exhausted to care about the manhandling.  
“Ya poor thing, that's the downside with ridin' bareback. Ya did good though pardner. By tomorrow, I bet you’ll be a darn good cavalier.” Jesse grinned, resting the archer on the ground instead.  
“Right. Tomorrow.” Hanzo snorted, letting his head slumping against the grass. To hell with bugs and soil getting in his hair, he wanted to sleep off the physical exhaustion. “You are saying this just to cheer me up.  
\- Partially yeah, but I do mean it.” Jesse hummed, pulling dry branches from a nearby bush.

He had barely finished gathering them into a small stack that Hanzo was out.

[… I thank whatever logic these dreams abide to for not waking up with the stitches and cramps I should have been feeling after yesterday's stunts. My legs were aching to the bone, and muscles I did not even know I had were sore beyond my comprehension.

While there is a chance I will wake up in a miserable state tomorrow and have to get back on Cow anyway, I am looking forward to it. As exhausting as it was, this first lesson has efficiently erased the bitter guilt, the backlash of the anguish that plagued me, and the sadness of the stories we shared.  
Now I hope I will not spectacularly fail the next one. As much as I enjoy contact with Jesse (when I am not shamefully craving for it), I do not wish to fall in his arms every minute.”

 

**– Wednesday night**

“I have already expressed my amazement quite explicitly in my previous entry, but the Horse Hills are just so incredibly beautiful and alive. I cannot remember ever seeing such a debauchery of nature and wild flowers, except perhaps in paintings.

On the map, only a small portion of the hills appears. According to Jesse, the plain is half as big as the desert. Were it not for our treasure hunt, I would gladly visit its entirety.  
In the direction we are heading towards, it will take a week to reach our next location. Plenty of time to bask in the openness of this place.

While I am still excited about reaching our mysterious goal, my enthusiasm mostly resides in being with Jesse. When I look back to the beginning of our partnership, I see how close we have grown and I can only hope we will get closer.

If I were to take a guess, I would say that the Horse Hills were named after their incredibly diversified wildlife: horse. But that would be unfair. 'Horses' would be more accurate for starters, since there are many different kinds. And there are other animals populating the hills; I have spotted a few rabbit holes and molehills, plus several birds. We even came across a solitary tree, in which an entire fleet of chickadees had gathered. To my greatest embarrassment, Jesse referred to them as a “bunch o' tits” the entire time. 

Of course we pursued the riding lessons. It took some time before I could master the art of climbing up and down Cow’s back, the stallion secretly nefarious under his innocent airs. At least walls have the curtesy of holding still and not threaten to overthrow me every five minutes.  
When Jesse saw that I was having troubles, he offered I went on a different horse. But I refused, for I am not one to back down from a challenge and I thought preferable to start with a difficult mount just in case I ever have to deal with another one.  
Or maybe I am just as stubborn as Jesse McCree and my mind was set on beating the uncooperative creature at his game…]

“Stop moving at once, infernal beast!” Hanzo hissed under his breath. Cow would not stay put, walking and nipping at the archer's shoulder as he attempted to hoist himself up on the tall horse. More than once Hanzo had tumbled down, narrowly avoiding twisted ankles. Because yesterday had gone so much better, he was rapidly growing frustrated at his repeated failures and the horse's unhelpful attitude.

Jesse was standing back, watching his numerous attempts with a mixture of amusement and increasing pity. “Dunno what ya jus’ said, but I'll take a guess an' say that was some sharp cussin'.” The cowboy chuckled after that Hanzo had spat a string of swearwords.  
“Your guess is right. This donkey-like brute is actively trying to drive me insane.” The archer grumbled. He gathered momentum, then threw most of his body over Cow's back. The horse let out an offended moo-like neigh in response, but he did not buck the archer off.  
“I think he picked up on yer nervousness an' wanted ya to chill. Or he felt like bein' a dick today, can't tell.” Jesse uncrossed his arms from his chest and tentatively reached out for Hanzo, who was squirming to get his leg on the other side of the horse. “Ya're sure ya don't want my help this time?  
\- Please, I am doing just fine and you are fishing for an excuse to get your hands on me again.” Hanzo jested, before he managed to work his body in the correct position. Cow looked back with a seemingly defeated air, and the archer nearly boasted triumphantly.

What stopped him was the sight of a gawking, blushing Jesse. “No I ain't.” He spluttered defensively before the archer could ask him what was wrong, his hands raised up as if he was being held at gunpoint. “Hanzo, I only mean to help, I swear. I know I got a bit close yesterday, but I can give ya space if it makes ya uncomfortable-  
\- Jesse stop, stop. I was joking. I would never accuse you of that.” Hanzo admitted guiltily. With the level of camaraderie between them, he had not expected the cowboy to take his jest seriously. “I am very grateful for your consideration, I just wish to become as able as you are. If I always relied on your assistance, I would not be of any help to you.”  
Jesse blinked at him, then his stance relaxed and he chuckled. “Damn, ya got me there for a sec'. Guess I kinda deserve it for all the times I pulled yer leg.  
\- Trust me, I would have shoved you off and let you fall if you had been inappropriate.” Hanzo scoffed as Jesse took a seat behind him.  
“I'm sure ya'd do it, but the joke'd be on ya 'cause I've already fallen head over heels.” The cowboy said. Unsure whether he meant it or not, the archer decided not to insist and focus instead on not falling.

–

Once Jesse trusted Hanzo to stay sit with more grace and balance than a bag of potatoes straddling a barrel, he hopped off Cow's back and mounted the closest horse, a Mustang mare that had been carelessly following them.  
“I'll ride by yer side today, so ya can try an' be steady by yerself.” The cowboy said as he scrubbed the horse's neck. “But if ya're worried you'll fall over durin' the trot, we can hold hands.” He added, extending a hand between them and wiggling his eyebrows at Hanzo.  
“How bold of you.” The archer scoffed, smirking freely. “Do you make such the same offer to all your riding students?  
\- Only the good-lookin' archer who can kick my ass.” Jesse replied with an over-the-top wink that got Hanzo snorting.

The archer managed to resist the offer for a full minute of trot, until his balance was put to the test. His confidence vanished into smoke and he grabbed Jesse's extended hand to regain some stability. The cowboy was polite not to say a word, but the smile playing at the corner of his lips was quite eloquent.

At some point Jesse let his horse go in full gallop and Cow started following, startling Hanzo out of the semi calmness he had gained over the past minutes. “Could you slow down cowboy?” He called out, digging his heels in the stallion's sides to avoid sliding off.  
Jesse made his mount slow down progressively, Cow only stopping once they had caught up to them. “What happened to 'cowman'?” The cowboy drawled, nonplussed. “It was startin' to grow on me.  
\- Cowboy suits you better.” Hanzo shrugged. “You are much too old to be called a boy, but you sure hinder the childishness of one. And I like the sound it better.”  
Jesse removed his hat and solemnly held it before his chest. “Goes right to my heart darlin'.”

[… Eventually I was able to hold myself steady, or at least not bounce off Cow's back during the gallop. As for Jesse, he showed the same ease he has with Sis at all times. Force of habit I suppose, and these feral horses enjoy his presence.

It was hard not to feel overly proud of myself when I finally resisted my apprehension and the laws of physics. Especially when Jesse kept on praising me; the man took every opportunity possible to make a compliment, and it rapidly became difficult to differentiate them from flirting lines.  
Nonetheless I caught myself basking in these praises, and I have become avid of them. I should chastise him for his flattery, and myself for allowing it, but it is impossible to do. I cannot tell him to stop when he smiles at me the way he does. I cannot berate my desire to hear more when his words make me feel so warm and light.

I do wonder where all this knowledge on horses comes from. I know nothing about equitation and I have never been interested in learning about it. As far as I can remember, I have never done any research on the subject for the sake of my novels.  
It is possible I have this knowledge somewhere in my unconscious mind, along with the lost memories I cannot grasp. Maybe I saw a documentary one night? If yes, I must have fallen asleep because I cannot recall. Or maybe I had an anxiety crisis, it is hard to remember what goes on around me in these situations.

At the end of this long day, we set up a camp and decided to have our own little Christmas…]

“Hey Han'?” Jesse spoke, breaking the comfortable silence that had been covering their camp.  
Hanzo snapped out of his contemplation and turned to face the cowboy with a quizzical look. Until now he had been looking at the horses grazing in the light of the sunset, glad he had not passed out like the day before and missed this spectacle.  
“Dunno if ya celebrate Christmas, or if that's even a thing in the Dragon lore, but it doesn't matter.” The cowboy chuckled, before he ended him his own blanket bundled up. “Here’s a late present for ya. Sorry if the packagin' looks like shit, I forgot to take my ribbons an' my gift wrappin' with me.”

Amused, Hanzo reached out and accepted the bundle with a nod. “Who cares about the way it is presented, when the content is what matters the most.” He replied with a subtle wink. There were chances Jesse would not catch it with the dancing light of the fire and the shadows it casted on his face, but it still felt pretty daring of him.

Unsurprisingly, Hanzo found the snake skin resting in the blanket. he archer carefully unfolded the thin leather-like material, amazed its texture and coolness. It was practically transparent, with some figments of color still present on a few resilient scales.  
“Hope it looks a’right, I didn’t get much practice on reptiles.” Jesse said, his eyes darting from Hanzo's face to the skin.  
“It looks very nice Jesse. Thank you so much.” The archer replied with a soft smile. The skin could have been imperfect, receiving the end result as a present after seeing the cowboy spend much time and work on it was more than gratifying.

Hanzo reached for his bow and carefully wrapped the skin around the upper and lower limbs; it was just the right length to protect the entire frame. “I have no doubt your gift will serve its purpose the next time we get drenched.” He told Jesse before he put the weapon aside and grabbed his quiver. “Actually, I also have something to give you for belated Christmas.”  
The surprise on Jesse's face rapidly turned into a mixture of various emotions; self-consciousness, curiosity and something Hanzo could not quite pin. “Oh darlin’, ya didn’t have to.” The cowboy muttered with a nervous smile, moved by his attention.  
“Neither did you, and yet you dedicated yourself to making that skin. While I do not have your crafting skills, I wanted to make something for you in return and I would be most honored if you accepted it.” Hanzo replied nervously, fishing inside the quiver with jittery gestures.

He finally retrieved the trinket, careful not to prick his hand on the arrowhead. Halfway through pulling it out, he realized he had nothing to wrap it in.  
Thankfully Jesse had solved that problem for him; he had closed his eyes and extended his hand toward Hanzo, his lips pressed together as he visibly itched to grin goofily.  
Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling, Hanzo rested the trinket in Jesse's palm and gently closed his fingers over it. “You may open your eyes now.” He hummed, releasing the cowboy's hand begrudgingly.  
Jesse obeyed. As he opened his hand and saw the trinket nestled in his palm, his eyes widened. 

Unsure of how his gift would be interpreted, Hanzo begun to explain: “I know that you have many knives, and surely this one must seem really puny by comparison. But it is intended to be small so you may hide it easily in-  
\- Oh my God!” Jesse suddenly gawked, apparently having not listened to the archer's nervous jabber. “It's lovely!”  
The cowboy picked up the strap and pulled the trinket up to get a better look at it, his eyes practically shining. Then he threw a myriad of questions at Hanzo, who was too stunned by how well his gift was received to answer. “Ya made that yerself? Are these feathers? Is that from one of yer arrows? Ain't that freakin' cool! Does it have like, a meanin’?  
\- Y-yes?” Hanzo stuttered, bewildered.

“That’s so awesome, I’m puttin’ it on right now.” Jesse beamed, before tied the cord around his neck. The arrow tip rested over his sternum, the feathers surrounding it making it look like a pendant. “How do I look?” He proudly asked Hanzo, who had finally shaken himself out of his surprise.  
“Well this is not the use I had in mind.” The archer admitted, before he broke a smile. “Nonetheless it suits you quite well.  
\- Ya can wear the skin ‘round yer neck like a scarf if ya want, I wouldn’t mind.” Jesse grinned, adjusting his bandana to cover the cord.  
Hanzo opened his mouth to rebut him, but stopped himself. Jesse was right; they were free to use their gift any way they wanted.

Instead he focused on giving Jesse's questions proper answers. “I indeed made it myself while we were traveling through the forest, from an arrow and other various materials I had on hand. As for a meaning… This is an amulet meant for protection, and also a symbol of my trust. If we were to part, my mind will be at ease knowing one of my arrows is protecting you.”  
Jesse’s eyes gleamed and Hanzo wondered if he had not spoken a little too honestly. “I’m touched Han’, I’ll always keep it next to my heart. I wonder though, does it work against heartbreaks?  
\- I do not think it will prevent one, but whoever broke your heart would have to worry about an angry dragon man hunting them down.”

Jesse threw his head back to laugh and Hanzo gladly joined him, until they fell back in a comfortable silence.  
Then the cowboy started singing and the archer lied down, looking at the dark clouds masking the sky and wishing these moments could last.

[… My feelings for Jesse are now far more complex than I dare admit. I do not quite know when exactly the change occurred, but realizing that the cowboy means the world to me after almost losing him was an eye opener.  
I think I am in love with this man. The wording 'I think' tends to mean a lack of certainty, but writing it down makes the thought all the more acute, and the feeling behind it all the more indisputable.  
Love is something of a virgin ground to me. I have never had such intense feelings toward another person. The only bounds I ever had were with my family and friends. And while I am not completely unacquainted with lust, its appearances were sparse and short-lived.  
Maybe I fell for someone back when I was young, an instructor I respected greatly. I cannot be sure however, I was severely repressing my emotions back then. What I remember in chilling clarity is the dread someone would find out about my preferences and use that knowledge to drag me into the mud.

This time, with no fear of retaliation or judgement, I allowed an attraction to grow and blossom. The fact it was Jesse McCree who nurtured it would have mortified me a few years back, but I have changed.

I am not peculiarly worried about Jesse's response to my feelings. He has made it quite obvious that he is interested in me; to get more obvious, he would have to write it on his forehead.  
The one thing I have reservations about is the nature of his interest. Is he after a summer fling, or a friendship with benefits? Does he wish for something meaningful?  
I have seen Genji fool around with so many people, I know this kind of relationship has no appeal to me. What I want is a significant other. Someone I could not imagine the rest of my life without.

With that said, or rather written, I am very much aware of my seeking romance with an imaginary friend. I have most likely gone insane or very desperate (possibly both) to be considering this whole thing.  
It is undeniably my fault. I keep forgetting that Jesse is not real, that I created him. But I am in too deep to pull back and I have no wish to stop our interactions. Jesse is the only good thing I have.

Waking up from my time with him is becoming more unbearable as the end of the year approaches. If this time is going to be as desperately difficult as the previous ones, then I can only hope that the cowboy's comforting presence will pull me through.  
Then again there is the party to attend. That means I will have to wait before I can rejoin Jesse and forget about my life the time of a night.  
I wish I had said no, but who am I to break Gabriel and Jack's hearts when they have expressed their wish to see me attend? After everything they have done for me?

I can only hope that I will be strong enough this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who thought there'd be no romance in here? ʕ ᐛ ʔ


	32. The Horse Hills pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "warning" : this chapter contains teaching on how to shoot arrows. I actually did some research, but it might come off as vague or inaccurate nonetheless. Thank y'all for your understanding ʕ･ᴥ･;ʔ
> 
> Alternate titles:  
> \- There Is Almost No Angst Here I Promise (Would I lie?)  
> \- Fanservice pt.2  
> \- Close calls : the chapter  
> \- The Hills were not gay enough pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? It's almost Spring ꒰⁎′̥̥̥ ᴥ ‵̥̥̥ ꒱*✲ﾟ*｡
> 
> First of all, THANK Y'ALL for your kudos, comments and support. You guys are amazing and you are the reason why this fic is going ʕﾉ⸝⸝;ᴥ;⸝⸝ʔﾉ
> 
> Second of all, sorry for the wait (˃̵ヮ˂̵;) last update was a month ago (+1 day technically but AO3 was done yesterday lol). Time really flew by between work and lack of will to do anything. I agonized over this chapter that got out of hand because I kept adding new things. It's 17 pages long in my .doc ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆ ʔ
> 
>  ***EDITED*** Third of all, I MADE ART FOR THE CHAPTER ٩ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ۶ Bit late, but better than never. [You can check it out here!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/171970198386/lucid-dream-the-new-chapter-was-already)
> 
> Fourth and last (but not least), I GOT FANART ٩ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ۶ [@jackieyaky](https://jackieyaky.tumblr.com/) made [these wonderful pieces](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/171752614871/jackieyaky-fic-rec-dabs-in-sorry-its) based on the previous chapter. I also got an accidental fan art from [@finchworks](https://finchworks.tumblr.com/), who was asked to draw a [prompt based on this chapter](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/171868904146/kangarawr-finchworks-thank-you-guys-for-the). Please check their blogs out!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I had lotsa fun writing it even if it took me so much time ʕ•̤́ᴥ•̤̀❀ʔ

**– Thursday night**

“So far the only dangers we came across in the Horse Hills are the horse dejections hidden all over the place. Stepping in one brings luck according to Jesse, but he probably said that to comfort himself because he has walked in manure several times since we got here. I wish I could say that I have successfully avoided it, but the grass is pretty tall. And because of the overpowering smell of flowers and horses, olfaction does not help navigating around these disgusting, though harmless landmines.

Otherwise this place is remarkably pleasant and peaceful. If it were not for our quest, I certainly would not mind lingering here a little while longer.

Since the weather outside has been too unkind for me to go on the rooftop lately, I asked Jesse if we could take a break from his lessons so I could practice my archery. It will most likely not be as efficient as doing it for real, but it is better to maintain the right habits. Even if I lose in shape by the time I can train again, at least I will not have difficulties reaching the right mindset. Besides the idea of shooting without the constant stress that one of my neighbors might walk onto me mid-training was like a siren song to my ears.  
Jesse gingerly accepted, saying he could also use a pause to take care of Peacekeeper. While the gun is most likely just as safe from deterioration as my bow is, it still requires a thorough cleaning time to time to avoid clogging or misfiring. After the intense shooting at the Mine, it is quite reasonable.

Just in case the curse of Jubokko reached beyond the confines of the Forest, I preferred not to target a tree. Instead I took the piece of bark that Jesse had used for the preparation of the snake leather and propped it up against a broken monolith. It had served its initial purpose and was to become firewood anyway.

As I executed the warmup I usually do before shooting, Jesse promptly disassembled his gun and checked the insides, using his bandana to clean some parts. Watching him work was fascinating, for he has the ease of someone who has done these gestures so many times they do just as well blindfolded.  
Not that I would ever fantasize about the cowboy wearing a blindfold. Good god no.  
It would be a crime to cover these eyes.

Once Jesse was done reassembling Peacekeeper, I asked if I could take a look. My request seemed to amuse him at first, but he was kind enough to let me inspect the gun. After I promised to let him have a closer look at my bow, which is only fair.  
His revolver is a rather singular weapon. It is the largest handgun I have ever held, and it is just as heavy as it looks. Its design is rather smooth, surprisingly stylish considering the tastes of its owner. Although the spur on the cross, which was definitely not a part of the original design, screams 'Jesse McCree' just as loudly as the cowboy's belt buckle flashes 'BAMF'.  
It looks much too modern to be an antique firearm, but it suits its anachronistic owner all the more.

I eventually asked Jesse if I could fire Peacekeeper. I used to be good with firearms in the past and I was curious to see if that was still true.  
The condition became that Jesse got a little lesson of archery in exchange; I use his gun first, then he gets to handle Stormbow. It promised to be quite the peculiar experience, at least for him since guns are not a novelty to me.

Peacekeeper did catch me off guard though, its recoil much stronger than I expected. As I took a first shot, it startled me enough to miss my mark. I quickly adapted my aim and stance to avoid making a complete fool of myself. My next tries were met with success thankfully…]

The small, appreciative whistle Jesse made as he squinted at their target made Hanzo almost smile. Outside of the missed first try, the next five were grouped in a small circle on the bark. “Not too shabby. Do dragons handle firearms often? Or are ya jus' that good?” Jesse winked.  
“For the last time, I’m not an actual dragon.” The archer replied, handing the gun back to its owner. “I descend from them, but it does not mean I am one. Men are not actual apes, at least not all of them.  
\- Sorry, I’m jus’ teasin’.” Jesse smiled sheepishly as he removed the empty casings. He replaced them with bullets then made a show of spinning Peacekeeper in his hand.  
The trick, although a demonstration of agility, left Hanzo completely indifferent. “Do you always perform a circus act before you shoot?” He chided.  
Then the cowboy threw the gun up, caught it and fired three times in a rapid succession; all three bullets lodged themselves in the dead center of the bark, surrounded by the archer's previous shots.

“Nah, I jus' like showin' off when my life ain't on the line.” Jesse replies as he whirled the gun around his trigger finger. He holstered it and looked back at Hanzo, who was still staring at the target. “In all seriousness, ya've got quite a good aim pardner. Do ya guys have guns up 'ere?” He inquired as if he had not put up a show just now.  
“Of course we do.” Hanzo slowly said, actually impressed. “We had to make up for not spitting fire somehow. Despite their indisputable efficiency, I have never liked using them. Too loud and messy. I find it difficult to reach the meditative state that a bow provides when a bang hits my eardrums at every shot.  
\- Aw. I was lulled by gunshots most o' my life, so I barely flinch anymore. But I get what ya mean. 'S pretty hard to tune out.  
\- Indeed. An arrow is far more discreet when you wish to remain undetected.”

That had served Hanzo well back in his yakuza days; shooting an arrow made little to no sound, finding the shooter was nearly impossible in the middle of the night. And it was such an unusual weapon that it had often stunned those around his targets, giving him ample time to flee undetected.

“I only resort to guns when I do not have a choice. And even so, there is not one I favor using unlike you and your beloved revolver.  
\- Yeah, this one’s got a pretty high sentimental value. My pals in crime used to make fun o’ me for not upgradin’ to the more unsavory stuff. Never saw the point; it only takes one clean shot to take a life. Heck, ya can kill two birds with one bullet if yer aim’s that good.  
\- Which yours is clearly.  
\- Been shootin’ with that gun ever since my Ma put it in my teeny tiny hands. Was a bit too big an' bulky back then, now it’s pretty much a part o’ me. Changed it a li’l bit over time, but it’s the same thing overall.  
\- What did your mother think you were going to run into that she put such power in young hands?” Hanzo asked. He was clearly the kettle calling the teapot black considering the intense training he had been put through early in his life, but Jesse had not been raised from birth to take the lead of a criminal organization.

The cowboy looked back at the archer, his smile somewhat sad. “People with guns, bloodthirsty animals, predators, that sorta thing. Our home was in a place where ya gotta fend for yerself if ya wanna stay alive. Ma had seen it all an’ she didn’t want her li’l boy to be defenseless. She kinda thought like ya, ‘bout how the good's rare in mankind.”

[… It felt quite odd to let Jesse handle Stormbow. No one, Genji included, has ever laid a finger on it; handing it over felt akin to giving my own arm away. To be fair, Jesse probably felt something similar when he let me hold Peacekeeper.  
Despite my apprehension I had no doubt he would wield it with caution and I was not wrong; he manipulated it as if it was made of crystal.

Teaching Jesse how to use the bow was easy in itself. Explaining the art of Kyūdō proved to be a little more challenging. I did not quite know how to explain its principles in English, or even in ways a novice would understand. I have been doing this for a long time, but what I have acquired is not easily translatable into words.  
Thankfully I was able to broadly summarize it as follows:  
“Do you never practice your shooting?  
\- Time to time to keep my aim sharp, an’ clear my head when I've got too much on my mind.” The cowboy replied.  
“Well Kyūdō is the same thing, only less loud.”  
A crude definition, but widely sufficient in this instance. Unless Jesse suddenly desires to switch his gun for a bow, which is very unlikely, he does not need to hear about the Shin-zen-bi…]

“Man that's a fancy bow. 'S a bit heavier than it looks.” Jesse grinned, turning Stormbow in his hands. He tried to pull on the string and was surprised to be met with so much resistance. “Man, heavin' that thing around an' havin' to pull this all the way to yer chin? No wonder ya’ve got such thick arms. If this ain't the coolest bow, then I ain't a cowboy.  
\- You may rest assured, it is one of the coolest.” Hanzo replied, amused by the cowboy's wonderment.  
“You'll have to pardon me; I honestly didn’t think bows could get that hi-tech. I thought a supple stick an' a string was all one needs to make one.  
\- This bow is much more technical as you can see. It was engineered by my ancestors, to insure stability without losing velocity and penetration over distance-” Hanzo cut himself off as Jesse audibly snorted. “Is something funny?” He asked wearily, even though he suspected his choice of word to be the reason behind the cowboy's sudden hilarity.  
“Ah no, jus’ a brain fart. Sorry.” Jesse coughed, having the decency to look bashful. “Please go on before yer eyes turn me into stone.”

Hanzo was tempted to maintain his icy glare, but it would be petty of him. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by your brain's incontinence, stability, range and _strength_. This is the most ergonomic bow you can find for archery and, well, other purposes.  
\- Such as takin’ out cowboys from a horse's back an' keepin' Wendigos at bay.  
\- Self-defense and offense, exactly. And you made a good point earlier; one in need can improvise a bow out of little. But without the knowledge and the practice required, it would be quite rudimentary and far less efficient. Like trading your gun for a slingshot.  
\- Hey! I made my own slingshot when I was a li'l shrimp an' I was a real terror with it. Sure I'd butt heads with bigger kids an' got my ass handed to me a few times, but I sure as hell made 'em eat rock!  
\- I am sure you did. Anyway you might have seen me firing at rapid rate a few times, although so much was going on in these instances that you could have missed it.  
\- Got a few glimpses. Ya're damn handy with that bow.  
\- That is thanks to years of training and regular practice. However, very much like one firing a gun for the first time, you will need time for your first arrow, in order to get accustomed to the bow, the aiming and the shooting stand.”  
While he spoke, Hanzo took Stormbow from Jesse's hands, extirpated his left arm from his sleeve and planted his feet into the ground. “You stance needs to stay grounded at all times, your balance on both feet and your breathing as gentle as possible. Like firing with a gun at a shooting gallery, except you actually need to reach for an arrow and pull on the string again between each shot. If you manage to stay focused on your target and repeat your moves consistently, then it will be no more different than simply pressing a trigger.”  
Once he was correctly positioned, he reached in his quiver and caught one of the many arrows at his disposal, swiftly notching it. “If your first arrow is off-mark, do not be too hard on yourself; it is to be expected.  
\- If I don't miss, can I get a peck on the cheek?” Jesse requested cheekily.  
“No, but you will get an arrow to the knee if you distract me.” Hanzo replied without missing a beat. “So please, be silent and observe.”

The archer then turned his full attention to the target, pulling the arrow until the string was taunt and trying to tune out Jesse’s smothered chuckle.  
It took some time before he could steel his focus. After years of practicing Kyūdō away from prying eyes, having a spectator was quite unusual, off-putting even. And of all people, it was the one person that distracted him the most.  
The cowboy by his side made no sound however, barely breathing. Hanzo was not sure if he was being regardful or if he had taken his threat seriously, but he was grateful nonetheless. Even the wind seemed to hold back, patiently waiting for him to take the shot.

After a few seconds of tensed stillness, Hanzo finally did. In a blink the arrow disappeared and reappeared on the bark, planted in the same spot than Jesse's bullets.  
“The smallest distraction, the slightest stutter, it takes little to make you miss significantly when you seek perfection. Of course a large target would be hard to miss, but sometimes the difference between success and failure, life and death, is just a hair.” Hanzo said as he lowered Stormbow. “If you ever had to aim in order to incapacitate a felon rather than killing them, you must know. Besides, without repeated practice and a certain mastery of the bow, one will never beat the lethal efficiency of a gun.”

Jesse let out a nervous laugh. “Damn. That was pretty impressive. I think I've got a lot more respect for Legolas now. Though he probably has it easy, bein’ an elf an’ all.”  
Hanzo rolled his eyes. He handed the bow back to the cowboy and walked to their target in order to retrieve the arrow.

[… The delicate part came to showing Jesse how to hold the bow. Not because he is a bad student, all the contrary. He was remarkably attentive and serious for the most part.  
I tried to explain every aspect of the position the best I could, maintain a respectful distance…]

“We will start with the basic archery stance.” Hanzo said, standing by Jesse's side. “Imagine a shooting line between you and the target.  
\- Got it.” The cowboy nodded slowly, waiting for further instructions. He was calm, only a faint twitch of his brows betraying his anticipation.  
“Now place one foot on each side of the shooting line. Space your feet so they are approximately shoulder width apart. Rotate them until they are parallel to the shooting line. That is what we call the square stance and it is one of the standard positions.”  
Jesse opened his mouth, but almost immediately clamped it shut. “Never mind. Innuendo aborted.” He muttered, before firmly planting his feet into the ground.

Preferring to let it slide, Hanzo pointed at the bow. “This is a right-handed bow. That means you are supposed to hold onto the riser with your left hand.  
\- Ain’t ya worried I’ll damage it with my prosthetic hand?” Jesse frowned worriedly. “I usually manage my grip, but I still don’t go around holdin’ glass.  
\- It is alright, the material is very resistant. But if it can ease your concern and improve your experience, then you may undo your bandana and tie it around your hand. That should be enough to shield the handle without hindering your grip too much.”

The cowboy promptly executed himself, pulling the cloth from his neck and wrapping it around his metallic fingers. When he gripped the bow with renewed confidence, Hanzo pursued his lesson: “Now, stand up straight and rotate your chin over the shoulder, or as close as possible of your right arm. Rotate your hips, so they are tucked or rolled under your upper body so as to flatten your lower back.  
\- That’s gonna be difficult Han’, I’ve got saddlebags for hips.”  
Hanzo actually looked down, taking in Jesse's behind before he realized what he was doing. Heat swarmed to his face and he hurriedly focused his gaze on the cowboy's neck, hoping he had not noticed his pause.

“Do your best.” He replied with a voice thankfully normal-sounding. “Lower your chest and ribs downward toward your stomach. Push your shoulders downward. Now hold this position and breathe slowly. Wait for your body to stabilize. There is no rush and no need to impress me.  
\- What if I do wanna impress ya a li'l bit?” Jesse mumbled not so discreetly.  
“Then impress me by doing exactly what I said.” Hanzo smirked, before handing the cowboy an arrow. “Hold the tip, past the fletching. Place it in the notch. Hook your fingers around the string, like this.” He pressed against Jesse's fingers to make them curl then hastily released him, as if a longer contact might burn him. “Now draw the arrow and the string all the way back to your chin, while keeping the arrow aligned with your target. Move slowly, rushing will disrupt your stance.”

[… Jesse followed my instructions down to a T, but he unfortunately shifted as he executed himself. I cannot blame him, it is difficult not to move when doing such unfamiliar gestures.  
And in this instance, adjusting the position of the body manually is the fastest way to correct these defaults. But it is so awfully invasive, if not degrading…]

“Permission to correct your position myself?” Hanzo reluctantly asked, out of options. Even though Jesse was in no way as touchy as he was, he did not want to make him uncomfortable.  
The main reason was that he dreaded to touch the one man he dared have feelings for; admitting to himself that he was attracted to Jesse had left him hyper-aware to contact between the cowboy and him. And in order to rectify his position, he would have to touch his body.  
“If you prefer I speak you through this instead-” He started, already expecting the cowboy to quit. But Jesse interrupted him.  
“It's fine Han', ya go ahead.” He assured, his face still harboring a nonchalant concentration. “I don't mind.”

Hanzo swallowed discreetly, then moved closer to Jesse and carefully adjusted his body. He started from the head, worked down to shoulders, arms and hands, then he moved lower and lower. The archer did his best to keep his hands light and avoid lingering too long, praying the whole time that the cowboy was not regretting this; if he caused him the slightest discomfort, he would never forgive himself.  
But outside of a nervous giggle every now and then, Jesse stayed quiet and cooperated fully, following his guiding touch without reluctance.

At last Hanzo finished moving Jesse's feet and stood, putting a significant distance between the two of them. His face burned and the cowboy was sporting a noticeable blush, apparently just as flustered as he was.  
An apology was on the tip of Hanzo's tongue, but he was stopped by the sight of a kind, understanding smile on Jesse's face. “What do I do now?” He hummed without budging from his stance.

“Pull the arrow back, clear your mind of any distraction outside of the target.” Hanzo continued, relieved. “Breathe through your nose and exhale through your mouth. If you have difficulties focusing, then center solely on your breathing till your mind is clear of all thoughts.  
\- Ya sure ya wanna let me do this?” Jesse asked, sounding a bit doubtful. “I’m kinda scared I’ll miss an’ hit a horse.  
\- Unless you can make the arrow pierce through the stone and the hill right behind it, or you turn away from the target, there is no way you are not going to hit a horse. Now breathe, clear your mind and aim again. Do not be afraid. When you are ready, release the arrow.”

The first arrow missed as predicted, bouncing off the monolith noisily. Jesse let his shoulders slump, a disappointed frown pulling his eyebrows down. “Damn. Here goes impressin' ya.  
\- Do not let that first try discourage you.” Hanzo replied, quickly adjusting parts of the cowboy's stance and placing another arrow in his hand. He would be damned if he let Jesse lose his usual spirit. “Your feet shifted. Your stance is the foundation for your shot, it must be solid and consistent arrow to arrow. And you hooked the bowstring with too much finger tension.  
\- Sorry hon'. I hope I didn't waste that arrow.  
\- It is fine, I have plenty of them. Try again please.”

The second shot was barely an improvement; the arrow hit the bark and stuck to it, but it was nowhere near the bullseye. Again Hanzo approached Jesse and moved his arms and hands until they were properly positioned.  
After a third try just as mediocre, the archer stayed right behind Jesse, his hand over the cowboy's as he pulled the third arrow back. His partner barely seemed to notice, his entire focus on the target.

This time the arrow hit the mark. A little outside of the circle left by the bullets, but the best result that Hanzo could have hoped for after the previous attempts. “Excellent.” He cheered, patting Jesse on the back.  
“Ya're too kind.” The cowboy relaxed, a little relieved by his progress.

–

They did a few more shots together until there was no room left on the bullseye. Jesse's accuracy was a bit of a rollercoaster, more or less good from arrow to arrow, but he had definitely improved by the end of the session.

“Say, how was yer first arrow like?” Jesse asked as they walked to the target.  
“It was simply awful.” Hanzo admitted with a faint smile. “My arms were too weak, I could barely pull the string without trembling. And as I took the shot, I released both the arrow and the bow. It bounced off the floor and smacked me in the face, while the arrow widely missed and broke a flower pot in the process. My mother laughed herself to tears.” That had been the first and last time he had got an unfiltered reaction out of his mother. She had not even scolded him for breaking that precious pot.  
She did forbid him from using a bow until he was strong enough to wield one.

“Aw. Everybody's gotta start somewhere.” Jesse cooed, plucking the arrows out of the bark as easily as if they had been toothpicks in cheese. “How old were ya when that happened?  
\- Four years old.  
\- Four years o- _Four_?” The cowboy spluttered, dropping most of his bundle. The arrows clattered against his boots, but he payed no mind to them. “My ma didn’t let me touch a pellet gun till I was six an' that was 'cause a bully broke my slingshot an' my nose! That ain't fair!  
\- Maybe I behaved better than you did.” Hanzo teased, kneeling to gather the fallen arrows.  
“Ya were a toddler for cryin' out loud, how well can one behave at that age? But it's ya we're talkin' about. I don't have too much trouble picturin' ya as a li'l goody two-shoes.  
\- And I can see you as the tiny ruffian who picked fights he was not sure to win and probably broke a lot of windows.  
\- Oh, twenty, maybe thirty really.”

[… Once we had retrieved all of the arrows, we got back on our horses. Jesse sung again as we rode, both to my greatest pleasure and displeasure; at first he regaled our ears with a few Gospel songs, and then eventually interpreted some country.  
It was the first time I ever heard him sing ‘In the Jailhouse Now’ and it has given me the answer to a question I had never asked myself before: do I despise yodel?  
Yes, I do very much. Even when Jesse is the one doing it…]

“Yodelayee-hee, yodelayee-hee, yodelay-eeee!”  
They had been galloping for several minutes and Hanzo was exasperated, fighting to keep from releasing his stomach content and knocking Jesse off his horse. The cowboy's singing was still as good as ever, but even his wonderful voice could not make yodel less horrendous.  
“For the love of everything that is good and virtuous, please stop doing that.” He shouted over the thumping of the hooves against the grass. “Or I will gag you!  
\- Kinky.” Jesse laughed. “Look darlin', it’s a part o’ the song. I can’t exactly hum it!  
\- Whatever it is, it is not singing. It is an ordeal for my ears and my health!  
\- Weaklin’.” The cowboy teased.

He stayed quiet for some time, giving Hanzo just enough time to experience some relief before he let out a long, loud whoop.  
“You really live for the noise!” The archer snapped. “What is it now? Did you swallow a bee?  
\- Oh I'm merely celebratin’ the fact ya haven’t fallen off yet!  
\- I surely will if you insist on startling me with your wolf sounds!  
\- Honey they don’t remotely sound like that!  
\- Fine. Are 'Hyena vocalizations' more like it?”

As Jesse laughed, Hanzo indignantly huffed and heeled Cow’s sides to get ahead of the cowboy. With the direction of the wind, he would hear him less if he was in the lead.  
He almost immediately regretted his decision, as the stallion got a little too happy and galloped like a freight train. The archer held himself the best he could to maintain a dignified posture, or else he would never hear the end of it.

Even the weather was against Hanzo, as the treacherous wind whipped through his hair and stole his ribbon away, freeing his locks. The archer looked back unhappily, regretting not to have redone his ponytail before riding and worried that the hair tie might get lost in the tall grass.  
But it was not the case, for Jesse had caught it before it could float away and was now holding it high like a flag, smiling proudly. Hanzo sighed in relief, making Cow slow down so the cowboy could catch up on them.

“I bring thee thy lost ribbon fair prince, in the hope thou shalt bless me with thy gratitude.” Jesse theatrically claimed once he was within the archer's earshot, holding out the ribbon majestically.  
Caught off-guard, Hanzo guffawed. “What in the world Jesse?” He laughed, before he regained some composure. “Thank you nonetheless, I am grateful you saved this silk from the unforgiving mud. Forgive my rudeness and levity in the face of your Southern Shakespeare impression.  
\- Naw Han', anythin' to get that cute snort outta ya.” Jesse winked, making a reverence all the more exaggerated.  
When the archer took the ribbon back, his fingers brushed Jesse's hand and he held on a second too long. Then he retrieved the silk tie without a word, unsure whether he had imagined the cowboy's fingers brushing his back or not.

[… This foolish, charming idiot keeps surprising me in most ludicrous ways. I believed he would eventually run out of ways to catch me off-guard, but he has more aces up his sleeves. If not entire decks.  
It has become harder to hide my infatuation; a simple contact puts me in a feverish state and his endearing reactions get the best of me! My self-control is decreasing rapidly and I feel helpless.  
I do not want to keep a distance between the two of us, but everything is moving so quickly that I almost wish to flee back to simpler times.  
The idea of losing what I have with Jesse is what keeps me from that. Even if I have to fumble uncomfortably around him until I have the guts to confess, I will not cowardly dismiss our friendship.”

 

**– Friday night**

“Today the hills were incredibly alive with the sound of laughter and mirth. Jesse and I had the best of times.

We decided to have a race. A short one for sake of the horses, just long enough to experience some thrill. I was a bit concerned at first, but not for long; riding is so pleasant once you get the hang of it. I am finally at ease on Cow’s back. And so is he with my presence, or at least he understood that I would persevere in spite of his efforts to deter me.  
Of course I still had to get over the constant shaking and the insisting fear that I might fall and break my neck, but I had much more confident in my balance thanks to Jesse's teachings

As we raced toward the horizon, I felt a maddening exaltation, along with a freedom I have rarely experienced in my life. If I had to compare it with something, I would say my first vacations with Genji. I could not worry about anything; I was simply enjoying the moment…]

All Hanzo could see was green and blue, the landscape blurred as Cow galloped as fast as he could. The wind was strong today, biting at his cheeks and whipping through his clothes while the sun above them kept him warm.

Jesse had been the one who initiated the race; now he was probably chewing on his words, for the archer and Cow were winning so far.  
As Hanzo looked back to see where Jesse was at, he realized the cowboy was missing. The horse he had been riding until now was there, galloping sans cavalier. Where did he go? Had he fallen off?

Before the archer's inebriety could turn into worry, a whoop akin to a war cry came from his other side. He turned the other way, so brutally he almost got a whiplash. Jesse was there, sitting on an entirely different horse and waving his hat at Hanzo.  
“Hey there!” The cowboy nonchalantly smiled, shoving the Stetson back on his head and winking at the astonished archer.

“What happened? Did you fall down and hopped on the nearest horse thinking I would not notice the change?” Hanzo replied, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I am not well-versed in horse types, but I am not completely blind.  
\- Nope, I jumped on 'im! From the back o' my previous horse.” The cowboy boasted, sticking out his chest.  
Hanzo let out a disbelieving exclamation. “At the speed we were going? I do not believe you!  
\- Well, only one way to prove ya wrong. Watch this!”

Jesse led his mount to run right by Cow's side, the horse managing to match the Appaloosa's speed. Then the cowboy promptly stood up on the colt's back, balancing himself on its rump.  
What his partner was about to do immediately became clear to Hanzo. “Jesse no.” He gawked, transfixed as he stared at the standing cowboy.  
“Jesse yes!”  
And with an additional war cry, Jesse leaped off the horse.

He landed right behind Hanzo with a grunt, his arms closing around his waist. Out of surprise, the archer completely lost his grip on Cow, just as the horse reared in response to the sudden extra weight.  
Unable to resist gravity and having nothing to hold them back, both men fell off together with a scream. But it was a short fall; Jesse landed first in the grass, Hanzo right on top of him. Although the cowboy's body and the thick grass cushioned his landing, the chest armor was peculiarly uncomfortable and the blunt impact knocked the air out of his lungs.  
The horses kept on going at a slower speed, without a care for their ex-riders; they were most likely very happy to be rid of the burden on their backs.

Hanzo grunted weakly, while Jesse released a dry cough beneath him. “Y'okay honeybee?” He moaned.  
“I think so.” The archer wheezed. They were conscious, but a concussion would have been a consolation in the face of the soreness and shame they felt. “Nothing broken as far as I can feel. What about you?  
\- Broke one thing. My legendary record of how long I can go without fallin' off a horse.” Jesse admitted after an alarming pause.  
Hanzo snorted. “You ridiculous, ridiculous man. You could have gotten yourself injured with this stupid stunt and you worry about your pride?  
\- Hey, I did it, didn't I? I proved ya wrong.  
\- You did, go cowboy. I would clap if I had not already paid a dire price for doubting your word.” The archer retorted, awkwardly turning on his front.

He pushed himself up and froze halfway through, as he realized that he was basically lying on top of Jesse. Despite the thick layer of armor and clothes between the two of them, he could feel a strong heart hammering against his palms. His own was also beating just as hard, to the point it was deafening.  
Hanzo looked up at the cowboy's face and was all the more startled to see it so close of his own. Every detail of Jesse's face, the freckles hidden on the tanned cheeks, the wrinkles left by easy smiles, the uncanny shades of brown in his irises, the almost invisible scar running across his lips; all of it was offered to Hanzo in this overwhelming instant. His face burned up, and it was not from the wind or the sun.

Hanzo's wrists caved under the uncomfortable torsion and he slipped forward, Jesse's nose brushing against his.  
A split second later, Hanzo was pushing himself away as fast as he could, standing up and wiping his clothes with needless harshness. He tried not to pay too much attention to the discomfiture on Jesse's face, or the infernal heat rushing to his cheeks.  
They had been close, way too close.

As the cowboy made an awkward attempt to sit up, Hanzo hurriedly offered his assistance and pulled him up. There was no use concealing his blush and he doubted it would pass as a sunburn. With the way he felt right now, spontaneous combustion was more likely.  
“Thanks Han', I was startin' to feel like an overturned turtle.” Jesse winced as he stretched his back. His spine made an audible crack that made the two of them shudder.  
“Maybe you should refrain from pulling such acrobatics if you are out of shape.” Hanzo jested, dearly hoping to put this accident behind them as fast as possible.

Jesse's eyes went wide. “Hold on a sec'. Ya're callin' me old? Look who's talkin', mister white sideburns.  
\- Silver actually, and they are dignified unlike the wild thing that squats your jaw.” Hanzo replied, gesturing at Jesse's beard. “One night on a full moon it shall come to life and devour your entire face in your sleep.  
\- At least it kinda looks like a lion mane. Yer puny things? I'd say li'l duckling wings.” Jesse smirked, ruffling one of Hanzo's sideburns with his knuckles.  
The archer nearly leaned in the touch, only to draw back and slap the cowboy's hand away. “Your taste is too unsophisticated to know better.” He quipped, wishing his face could cool down sometime soon.

Since the horses had gathered by a pond to quench their thirst and would most likely not let them sit on their back after this stunt, Hanzo and Jesse had to resign themselves to walking.  
“How old are you even?” The archer muttered, barely daring to glance at the cowboy strutting by his side. “I do not believe you ever gave me that piece of information.”  
Jesse opened his mouth to answer, then pouted. “How 'bout ya go first pardner? Ya didn't tell me either.” He replied.  
Hanzo frowned “Are you a child? Why am I even asking, I have been around you long enough to answer that.  
\- Nah I jus' like joshin' ya.” Jesse smirked, removing his Stetson to punch it back into shape. “I'm thirty-one. Ya?  
\- Thirty-two. But it does not make much of a difference really.” Hanzo huffed before the cowboy could start gloating.  
“Makes ya the eldest nonetheless.” Jesse smirked. “Ain't ya a bit young to go grey?  
\- I blame a very stressful life on that.  
\- Well discounting yer sideburns, ya look yer age a'right. Ya don't have much wrinkles outside o' yer permanent frown, an' the bags ya had beneath yer eyes when we met sorta disappeared. 'Sides the silver is a damn good color on ya.  
\- You base flatterer.” Hanzo “Could you stop ogling at my face? It is very distracting and you are about to step on a molehill.  
\- Now ya're just sayin' that to make me look away aren't ya-Ah!” The cowboy tripped and fell, the molehill having crumbled under his boot the moment it made contact.

To be fully honest, Hanzo did feel a little concerned and guilty for not stopping Jesse in time. But amusement whisked these away as he cautiously avoided the cowboy's sprawled limbs. “Now your age is really catching up on you Jesse McCree. Get your eyes checked.” He snidely claimed, carrying on walking while Jesse gathered himself up.

Hanzo had just taken one step that something seized his ankle and pulled him back, making him lose his balance. He fell with a muffled yelp, barely catching himself from nose-diving in a rabbit hole.  
However it was not the work of an animal that had tripped him, or at least not the ones populating the hills; a hand was tightly holding onto his ankle, and its owner was grinning from ear to ear.  
“Ya were sayin' sugar?” Jesse hummed, giving the archer’s leg a small tug right before he stood up. “How's the view from down here?  
\- You fool!” Hanzo barked. He hooked his foot around Jesse's boot and made him topple over.

Again Jesse flopped onto the ground with the grace of a wet towel. The archer quickly rolled aside to avoid being crushed and stood on all four above the cowboy, pinning his wrists against the grass to keep him still.  
Despite Hanzo's body blocking out the sun, Jesse's eyes were not any less shiny. “Well, well, well. Here we meet again.” He chided, not at all bothered by their current positions. “Ya come here often?  
\- We need to stop meeting like this. It is getting tiresome and repetitive.” Hanzo sneered. “Are you going to be reasonable now?  
\- Gee, lemme think. How 'bout no?” Jesse abruptly bucked the archer off and tried to hold him down.

But Hanzo had already jumped up to his feet, calmly waiting for the cowboy to follow. The moment his opponent was back on his boots, he provokingly waved at him, ready and eager to fight.  
“Ya're pretty damn fast and sneaky.” Jesse smirked, raising his hands like a grizzly bear. “I think it's fair to say that we're both unreasonable.  
\- That is quite fair.” Hanzo nodded with a smirk, before he pounced on the cowboy.

[… And just like that we started wrestling ferociously, pawing at each other like lions fighting over leadership and yet enraptured all throughout the tussle.  
I do not quite know what came over us; we were purely behaving like children at this point, without any restraint or shame. Even now, as I write down our frivolous antics, I do not feel any sort of embarrassment. It is possible that the 'accident' utterly desensitized me.  
That level of sober uninhibitedness has to be a first, for I would have never conducted myself this way except with Genji (when we were children), or under the influence of alcohol.  
Jesse decisively has rubbed off on me, or his puerileness has led me to connect with the child in me, a child I honestly believed had died a long time ago.

The truth is that Jesse would make a dangerous rival if we were to fight seriously. He is not be as agile and skillful as I am, but he makes up for it in height, weight, and a good deal of strength; he almost overpowered me a few times and stayed immovable until I started using unsavory techniques to disrupt his balance.  
Who would have lost if this scuffle had gone uninterrupted, I honestly cannot answer. There was one winner, but it was neither me or Jesse; it was the inclination of the hill…]

Completely absorbed in their fight for dominance, both wrestlers utterly failed to notice their drawing near to the slope of the hill. Until they were so close that one misstep sent them rolling down the hill.  
Too shocked to understand what was happening, all they could do was gripping one another; Hanzo clang to Jesse as if he were a lifeline, while mismatched arms embraced him tightly. He was unable to tell what was up and what was down, everything spinning around them until he forced his eyes to quell a nascent nausea.

After what felt like a short trip inside a washing machine, the two men managed to stop at once just by the rocky edge of a small pond, entangled in a mess of limbs and serape.  
Hanzo and Jesse freed themselves with difficulties, then looked at each other in complete stupefaction. “Are you hurt?” - “Y'alright there?” They asked in unison.

Neither man answered, too busy taking in the other; Jesse had grass and mud stains all over his nose and cheeks. Some of it might have been manure, it was hard to tell. As for Hanzo, he had wild flowers stuck in his hair.

Hanzo was the first to break, lips quivering and shoulders shaking until he could not contain his laughter. Jesse followed instantly, throwing his head back and guffawing warmly.  
The archer knew this was absolutely foolish, childish, and a total waste of time. But he could not stop; he had not laughed this hard in a long time and it felt simply good.  
“You are green.” He finally sniggered after catching his breath, quickly wiping the corners of his eyes. “There is grass all over your face.  
\- Speak for yerself Mother Nature.” Jesse smirked. “Ya've got quite a bouquet up 'ere. Ya might grow a pretty field on yer head next time ya wash yer hair.”

Hanzo's hands flew to his hair instinctively, the archer gasping when he felt soft petals beneath his fingers. He hurriedly undid his ribbon and shook his locks to remove all of it. Flowers and strands of grass rained down, most of it getting on the cowboy's chest. “Hey don't put ‘em on me.” He protested. “I'm dirty enough, thank ya.  
\- Apologies, I was thinking it would make a good nutrition for your beard.” Hanzo smirked. He stood to shake his hair away, then turned to see Jesse rub his face with a corner of his serape. “Do you not have a handkerchief or anything other than your own clothes to clean your face?  
\- Darlin' I don't think I’ve ever owned a handkerchief. How 'bout we stopped by the day, washed up with the water of this pool an' set the camp? I'm pretty tired after all that jazz.  
\- Jesse it is the middle of the afternoon. We should push at least until the sunset.  
\- C'mon, I don't wanna look like the jolly green giant for the rest o' the day. We've gone a long way since the week began, we can afford one lazy afternoon.  
\- Jolly and green certainly, but _giant_?  
\- Well yeah, next to ya.” Jesse smirked. He winced when Hanzo punched him in the shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, that was a low blow. But please Hanners? Pretty please?  
\- Fine. But hurry up, I would like to wash too.”

–

Several minutes later, Jesse was still not done cleaning and Hanzo was getting impatient. He did not enjoy having pollen stuck in his hair and wanted to claw his own scalp off. What made it worse was that the cowboy could not seem to get all the dirt off his face, and the pond was too shallow to offer a proper reflection.

“You have some left on your cheek.” Hanzo pointed out, tapping his own face to indicate the spot.  
“Here?” Jesse asked with a frown, rubbing the wrong cheek.  
The archer winced. “The other one Jesse. The other one.  
The cowboy obliged, except the spot was too resilient to his rubbing. “Better?”  
A impatient sigh escaped him. “You are just smudging it. Put some energy to it.  
\- Sorry I forgot my soap in jail. How 'bout now?  
\- You are helpless. Give me this!” He snatched the bandana from Jesse's hand and scrubbed the resisting spot himself.

“Honey ya're gonna peel my face off.” Jesse weakly protested, taken aback by the archer's attitude but doing nothing to stop it.  
“Good, I might as well give you a facial scrub while I am at it.  
\- Lordy. No offense but the day I shave, I ain't askin' ya fer help.  
\- Because you do shave?  
\- Sweetheart I'd be a walkin' beard if I didn't.  
\- Do you mean bear? Because you are already one to me.  
\- Says the lizard man who's jus' jealous o' my beautiful fur-” The rest was lost as Hanzo smacked the bandana over Jesse's mouth.  
“Done, you are clean. It's my turn now, move over.  
\- I think ya might be a li'l impatient for a cool archer guy.”

[… When my turn to wash came, I had no other choice but to shed my Gi. The weather was lukewarm enough, and I did not wish to have both my hair and clothes to dry.  
I was half-undressed and about to dip my hair in the pond when I noticed that Jesse was staring at me. His mouth was open, slightly moving with no sound coming out. Like he had been about to talk and got abruptly muted. I realized I had given him no warning whatsoever.  
For a second I hesitated; should I hide from his eyes? Ask him to look away? Or forgo my prudishness around him? Then I made my choice once and for all…]

“Close your mouth, it is rude.” Hanzo said without bite.  
Jesse obliged, his cheeks reddening and his eyes looking down at his knees. He pulled a sheepish face. “Ah sorry, I didn't mean to stare-  
\- It is alright. I-I do not mind anymore.” The archer affirmed, forcing himself to relax. He trusted Jesse and he loved him, he craved for his compliments and he was flustered every time they touched. He could do this.  
“Ya really don't mind me bein' near ya?” Jesse inquired, looking up at Hanzo's hairline. “I mean, I ain't so weak that I can't keep my eyes off o' ya, but I can turn back if that makes ya more-  
\- Cease. I would have told you if I minded.  
\- Ya really don't mind me lookin' at ya anymore?  
\- At some point I have to acknowledge that I am too pleasing to look at.” Hanzo deadpanned.

To his greatest delight, Jesse cracked up and loosened up. “Ain't ya modesty incarnated.” He chuckled warmly, leaning back against the grass. “Why the change o' mind if I may ask?  
\- I will not lie, there were times the way you looked at me intimidated me.” Hanzo hummed, leaning forward until his locks were fully dipping in the small pool. “I am not accustomed to showing skin around anyone. But I know you mean no disrespect, and I feel it would be paradoxical to keep a wall between us after that we have grown so close.”

He splashed some water on top of his skull, waiting for a reply. When he dared a sideway glance at Jesse, he found the cowboy looking at him with an appeased smile.  
“I'm touched ya're willin' to make that effort Han'. Must be tough for ya.  
\- It feels more like ripping off a plaster really. And it is not the first time you have seen my chest, you know how it looks now.  
\- Well, only the left side. An' to be completely honest too, I was startin' to wonder if ya didn't show yer other pec cause ya had like, an embarrassin' tat. Or no nip to show off.  
\- Jesse-  
\- Or a third tit, it happens-  
\- Must you be so crass?  
\- Sorry darlin', I enjoy annoyin' ya too much.”

[… While Jesse set the camp, I thoroughly squeezed the water out of my hair then washed the cowboy's bandana. He did say he would do it himself, but I wanted to make it up for nearly scrubbing the flesh off his face.  
The bandana was thankfully easy to clean; the dirt had not gotten too deep inside the fabric, and the color was already so faded after years of sun exposure that friction could hardly do it any harm.

Sis arrived an hour later, approaching us gingerly. Jesse stood from his spot and put his hands on his hips in a comical fashion. “Ya're late pardner! Did ya stop to frolic around with some stud?” He mocked, before he went to the horse and rubbed her neck. She tried to take a bite out of his hat in response.  
“You should not mock a lady for arriving late. You lack etiquette.” I admonished him, also standing to greet Sis with a heartfelt pat on the cheek. Until I met Cow, I had not realized how educated she was.  
“Oh I'm only treatin' her equally Han'. When she manages to arrive earlier than I do, she makes it a point to tease me.” Jesse retorted, slumping next to the little pile we made out of bark and dry grass to lit it. The light had considerably dimmed as the sun was ascending.  
“Teased by a horse. Oh the humanity.” I teased. But then Jesse threatened to tell Sis about my dealings with Cow and I decided to speak no more…]

The night fell, most of the sunset hidden behind looming clouds. A cooler wind was blowing across the plains and a few grasshoppers stridulated. Hanzo hoped it was not going to rain anytime soon, there was nothing to shelter them near the camp and he doubted Sis would appreciate serving as one; the horse had lied down after draining a good third of the pond, most likely exhausted after her journey around the mountains.

They had been both gazing at the fire when Jesse spoke up. “Hey Hanzo? I noticed somethin' weird 'bout ya.”  
The archer tensed, a little wary. “What is it?  
\- We saw two glowin' noodles-I mean spirit dragons or whatever the li'l critters are, but there's only one on yer arm.”  
Hanzo looked down at the intricate pattern of scales and dark clouds on his skin, weighing his options. Should he lie, or be truthful? It was quite private and perhaps a bit embarrassing, but in all honesty the truth was much simpler and sensible.  
“Maybe this dragon is not the only one on my skin.” Hanzo replied to the inquisitive cowboy. “Maybe the other is in a place you cannot see.”  
Jesse perked up, his curiosity disturbing his poker face. “Can I ask where?  
\- You may.  
\- Where is it?  
\- I said you could ask, I did not say I would answer.” Hanzo smirked, while Jesse pouted. Still he decided to give the cowboy a clue, discreetly tapping his fingers against his right thigh.

Either Jesse had noticed and did the math, or he had not and could only take his pick among the parts of the archer’s body he had not seen yet. Either way, he gasped and took his hat off to fan himself with it. “Ya're killin' me.” He swooned.  
“Slowly but surely.” Hanzo smirked triumphantly, proud to have successfully flustered the flirt.  
“A slow, sweet death. Wouldn't be so bad.” The cowboy laughed. “Ya're full o' surprises ya know?  
\- Am I?” Hanzo tilted his head. He had always thought that about Jesse and did not see how it could be applied to him.  
“Yeah. Ya're interestin', full o' wit an' fun. Didn't think we'd go this far together an' I'm happy I was wrong.”  
The archer had to look away, blinded by the bright grin flashed at him. What he sowed he reaped. “Thank you.” He replied softly, wishing he could be more forward about how much he enjoyed the cowboy’s company.

Before Hanzo could gather his courage, Jesse changed the subject. “So uhm, any chance callin' yer noodles? I mean yer dragons? If ya tried that is.  
\- I actually haven't, and the horses would not have appreciated the show anyway.” Hanzo shrugged. He focused, trying to reach in his psyche and find that power slumbering somewhere in him. There was a ripple, a soft brush against his conscience, yet it fled and moved out of his grasp when he tried to focus on it. “I felt something, but I cannot coax them to show it seems. What about you? Have you tried to remember what I said in the Mine?  
\- I did but it's hard. Ya were talkin' in a different language an' with the noise an' all.” The cowboy frowned hard. “I think I've got it though. But how does one say somethin' ya don't remotely understand?  
\- Try saying it phonetically, I promise I will not mock you. It cannot possibly be funnier than Southern Shakespeare.  
\- I'm glad ya liked it that much. Okay, I'll give it a try. It basically went like… Gimme a sec'.” The cowboy licked his lips, then he looked up and frowned in recollection. “Liu gah wakka tacky who coo raw?” He enunciated hesitantly.  
The slurred and mispronounced words still struck a cord within Hanzo's chest. “Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau.” He spoke in a toneless voice. “Of course.  
\- Yeah, yeah that's right!” Jesse beamed. “What the heck does it mean? … Hanzo?”  
The cowboy's voice was lost to him.

~

_“Aniki? Will our Dragons show if we call for them?” Four-years-old Genji asked, lying on the tatami by Hanzo’s side.  
“They are legends Genji.” Hanzo sighed, not bothering to look up from his homework. “Even if they were real, I doubt they would show on demand. They are divine beings, not dogs.  
\- But that would be so awesome! I go 'I choose you Dragon' and then suddenly it appears.” He rolled on his back and widely agitated his arms, trying to imitate a dragon and instead coming off as a toddler having a fit._

_“Ah, be more respectful. You are talking about a deity, not a Pokemon. And let me finish my work in peace! Otōsan demanded I finish this before the end of the day.”  
The mention of their father briefly cooled Genji, until his peppiness got the best of him. He did not have much self-control yet, while Hanzo had displayed a remarkable calm at the same age.  
“Only if you tell me what you would say to call your dragon!” He whined, clinging to his big brother's arm. “You promised you'd tell me after lunch if you didn't have the time to continue our story.  
\- I did, right.” Hanzo rested his pencil and tried to recall the idea he had this morning. “Well, I would say something to strike fear in the hearts of my enemies of course. Powerful words such as, “let the Dragon consume you!”  
\- Cool!” Genji beamed, applauding. “What about me?  
\- Do not be lazy. How about you try to find your own phrase?” Hanzo smirked, flicking the younger boy on the forehead. “You always complain that I make your character sound too serious when I write it for you. It is _our_ story, you are an active part of it. Think about something you would like to tell your enemy before you beat them.”  
Genji stayed silent for a few seconds, his forehead creasing as he concentrated. Then he suddenly gasped and grinned. “I got it! Hear this… Taste the Dragon's blade!” He claimed while swinging an imaginary sword around.  
“How distasteful!” Hanzo laughed. Then his little brother tackled him against the floor and they wrestled, the homework completely forgotten on the table._

_They were role-playing their story when Sojiro entered the room without knocking, startling them out of their imagined world. “Will you be quiet? The Elders and I are having a meeting.” He berated the boys harshly. “I am sure the entire estate heard you.  
\- A-apologies Father!” Hanzo bowed deeply, mortified to have been caught slacking off.  
Far less distraught, Genji just nodded sheepishly. “Sorry. I wanted to play!  
\- Well you will play alone and let your brother study. He has a lot of work to do.” Sojiro snapped at the child with a subdued ire. “What are you holding?  
\- A notebook.” The small child replied, hugging against his chest the diary in which their stories were written._

_The man walked to Genji and simply extended his hand. There was a pause, then his little brother handed it over.  
Hanzo stayed still, his cheeks burning in shame and his insides turning into ice as he heard the sounds of pages being turned. He did not dare look up.  
Eventually his father closed the notebook and opened the door. “Go outside, the stray cat you like so much is probably waiting for you.”_

_While Genji slowly walked outside of the room, Hanzo kept his forehead pressed against the floor, wishing he could make one with it. From the corner of his eye he noticed the apologizing gaze his little brother sent in his direction. But he pretended not to see it, his father's stare fixed on him.  
“Is your homework done?” Sojiro demanded once Genji had closed the door.  
“I have almost finished it-” Hanzo started. But his father's icy rebuttal cut him off.  
“That is not what I asked.”  
A chilling sensation went up Hanzo's spine, but he stayed still. “No Father, it is not done.  
\- Then why were you writing these _stories_ instead of working?  
\- Genji woke up early from his nap and came to find me-  
\- You blame your little brother?  
\- No, not at all.” Hanzo swallowed._

_Even if his father clearly had a soft spot for Genji, the last thing he wanted was to hold his little brother's feet to the fire. Hanzo was the eldest, he was responsible of his actions; Genji was still too young, too naive. “I-it was my fault. I should not have let myself be distracted.” Hanzo finally spoke.  
“Indeed Hanzo. You know what would happen if I let myself be distracted?  
\- The assassins would come back and kill us all.  
\- Exactly. Is that what you want?”  
The insinuation stabbed Hanzo's heart as if his father had planted a knife in his chest. “No!” He cried, briefly losing the control of his voice.  
“These frivolous stories are a waste of your time and energy. The only thing that should be on your mind is being the heir of what this family has built for years. If you are not fully dedicated to it, it will all crumble the day you will inherit it. Is that what you want?  
\- No Father.  
\- Then you shall stop writing your tales. I am giving you the diary back so you will dispose of it yourself.”  
The notebook was dropped on the table, the dull sound startling Hanzo. “Yes Father.” He replied after biting his tongue.  
“Finish your homework. Once you are done, go to the dojo and wait for me there.” He said before exiting the room as quickly as he had entered._

_Bitter shame and dread coiling up in his chest, Hanzo stood and returned to his work, barely able to focus. His heart was heavy and his stomach full of knots at the idea of what awaited him.  
All because of these stories-_  
“Hanzo?”

~

“Han'?”  
Fingers waved before Hanzo’s face. Frightened, he recoiled and almost fell back against the grass.  
Jesse caught his shoulder to steady him, then drew back immediately. “Uhh, I'm sorry to snap ya outta yer thoughts so rudely, but ya sorta phased out. Again.” He spoke softly, as if he was trying not to scare a wild animal. “ Ya do that a lot actually, 's kinda scary when ya ain't 'ere, ya know?  
\- A-apologies.” Hanzo stammered, utterly anxious and embarrassed. The memory had taken him to a place he wished he had never visited ever again.  
Some wounds ran deep, long after the scars were gone. Some would never quite heal, dormant until an unfortunate accident or a misguided thought kicked the hornet’s nest.

A soft touch brought him back; Jesse had slowly reached out and cupped his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It's okay hon'. I just get real worried that ya're gonna visit a bad place an’ not find yer way back one o' these days.”  
He could not have been more right.  
Hanzo was almost tempted to tell him all about this abrupt recollection, but he feared Jesse would pity him. He refused to be looked down.  
“I am the one with the map remember? I always find my way back.” He said instead, offering Jesse a weak smirk.

The cowboy smiled back, squeezing Hanzo's shoulder one more time before he let go. “It ain't a problem if ya can't use summon the li'l guys at will. I guess it requires us being in one hell of a pickle. But after the mine, we should be fine an' dandy.  
\- You seem very confident about that, but you do not know what awaits us past the hills.  
\- Well there's nothin' for mines an' miles after these hills. Land's broken an' dead, it's impossible to go through even on foot. An' it ain't about me not wantin' to climb; the walls are just sharp shard of rocks all over! Maybe there's a way through that the map will help us find, but it's gotta be hidden 'cause I never found anythin' remotely crossable in this rocky mess.  
\- Strange things have happened since I have arrived. Perhaps something about the dead land will have changed too?  
\- Don't see how, but that'd be alright.” Jesse smiled. “If that's the case, we'll have to explore it together. 'S kinda excitin' really.”

Hanzo stared at the fire for a moment, then he looked up at the sky. It was exciting, quite worrying too since anything could be waiting for them at this point and he had no idea if the assassin was still after them. But with Jesse and the Dragons, he felt like he would be able to face it all.

“That reminds me, your question.” He suddenly said, turning to face Jesse. “Let the Dragon consume you. That is what my words mean.”  
The cowboy whistled “That's a pretty rad incantation. I can think of a joke or two, but I've got the feelin' ya'd really hate 'em.  
\- Oh? What clever wit did you come up with now?  
\- Nah, forget 'bout it. Ya don't wanna hear this.  
\- Try me, I dare you.”

Several minutes later Hanzo was rolled up in his blanket and dying of embarrassment, while Jesse was rubbing a sore spot on his cheek. “See why I didn't wanna say it?” The cowboy sighed, chagrined. “Can't say I didn't warn ya.  
\- You need a filter cowboy.” The archer grumbled. “And I could use some bleach.  
\- I thought ya had warmed up to me enough to deal with a dirty joke.  
\- I would not want to go anywhere near this one, even with a hazmat suit! Now let me sleep.”

There was a short silence, then Jesse moved next to Hanzo and poked the blanket cocoon that his partner had taken refuge in. “Will ya at least let me apologize?” He asked, conveying the sadness of a kicked puppy in his tone.  
Hanzo sighed heavily, then he extirpated himself from the cover and sat up. “You have five seconds.” He muttered. “Five.”  
Jesse's eyes went comically wide. “C'me on, that's way too short! How can I make a proper apology like that?  
\- Four.  
\- Dios mio Hanzo, I get it ya're tired an' upset-  
\- Two.  
\- Wait. Where did three go?  
\- It went over your head. One.  
\- Okay, okay! Here goes.”

Before Hanzo could end his acerbic countdown, Jesse cupped his chin and pressed his lips against his temple. Whatever the archer had planned on doing once he would get to zero completely vanished from his head, along with everything else.  
“I'm sorry.” The cowboy hummed against his ear, his thumbs discreetly brushing Hanzo's jaw. Then he pulled away and grabbed his respective blanket, sitting next to Sis. “G'night Hanzo.” He whispered, before he lied against the horse and dropped the Stetson over his face.

Hanzo stayed stunned for some time, his brain slowly rebooting after its sudden breakdown. He stared at the cowboy nestled in his blanket, unsure what to do or say after this.  
Then the cold breeze blowing on the hills eventually helped him choose a course of action. He dragged himself next to the cowboy, 'accidentally' elbowing him in the ribs as he settled by his side. “Consider yourself forgiven you big oaf.” He murmured, pulling the blanket up to his nose.  
“Thanks sweetheart.” Jesse replied, the hat making his voice cavernous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe they haven't kissed yet ʕ ᐛ ʔ


	33. Happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1/3 OF THE TITLE IS A LIE  
>  **Warnings:** in the end notes (because spoilers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy y'all? ヾʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔﾉ It's been so long!
> 
> As usual, tons of thank you for all the kudos and the comments! You guys are awesome and I don't deserve you ʕ❀;/)ᴥ(\ʔ  
> Sorry for the wait! I'm afraid the time between uploads is gonna be like that from now on, because I am reaching the point where the fic is the least planned and drafted. But my motivation is intact and I hope y'all continue that journey with me ʕ˵ ͡oᴥ ͡o˵ʔ
> 
> I received two wonderful fan arts as well which I am excited to show y'all:  
> \- [This Adorable™ drawing](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/172262807051/toogreenart-doodle-for-an-amazing-mchanzo) of Jesse and Hanzo based on the previous chapter by [toogreenart](https://toogreenart.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [This absolutely stunning comic](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/172510856371/kitsune2022-artish-this-is-a-scene-from-lucid) of Hanzo saving Jesse in chapter 27 : The Mine, by [kitsune2022-artish](http://kitsune2022-artish.tumblr.com/)  
> Please check out the blogs of the artists! And if you would like to make your own fan art of the fic, I would love to see it and share it with y'all ʕ^ᴥ^❀ʔ
> 
>  
> 
> [I have also made a cover for this chapter right here!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/172968168581/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-has-appeared-what-do)
> 
>  
> 
> Now there is nothing I can say to prepare anyone for the chapter, so I just hope y'all enjoy it ❤⃛ヾʕ˘･ᴥ･˘;ʔ

As Hanzo woke up on the morning of the 30th of December, tired like he used to be after a long night riddled with nightmares, his very first thought was not about yesterday's oh so pleasant dream.

It was about the fact that in a few hours today, or rather tomorrow to be correct, it would be five years since he had put Genji in a hospital bed. Five years since he had broken both their lives in a car crash, five years lost because of his own remissness.

On second thought came the concrete certainty that today was going to be a miserable day. And it was very much starting like one; even though the phone alarm had activated minutes ago and was still going, getting up, sitting or just reaching for the device to stop its shrill beeping seemed like a tremendous challenge.  
Hanzo was drained, incommensurably numb and empty. The emotional vacuum had crept in on him throughout the week, stronger as the days went by. He had pushed it back as much as he could, the uplifting dreams providing him the strength to resist and the hope that maybe, just maybe, this year would end differently.

Today however, the pain in his heart was so deeply rooted and omnipresent, even the fresh memories from last night could not overcome it. These happy moments seemed so far away that they might as well have occurred in another life.

A mere two hours past his alarm, Hanzo eventually managed to get up. His apathy was very much the same; the concern that he might forget precious details of his day with Jesse if he did not write them down soon enough was what had pushed him out of the bed.

For a brief moment he considered showering, until he remembered that he could only use the cold water. As much as he disliked the slightest oiliness on his hair and skin, he was definitely not in shape to withstand the equivalent of an icy waterfall. He was enduring enough emotional hardships to stack physical ones on top.

For breakfast, Hanzo prepared himself a mug of tea and nothing more. Nausea made his stomach coil up just at the thought of eating, and it was best to save food for a time he would be able to keep it down.  
No money, no waste.

As he slowly sipped the hot beverage, the writer got down to adding last night's dream to the long compilation.  
Just opening the document made the writer feel proud; the number of pages was incredible considering the fact that the file had been a blank page up until a couple months ago. And it had nothing to do with the formatting; the entries extended over pages and pages, written in tight font and separated by formatted titles and dates. The first page was solely reserved for an index to help him navigate through the compendium, but it was already taking up the entire half of an A4 format.  
After taking notice of that, putting aside the emptiness digging a hole in his chest and starting to write was surprisingly easy.

The reminiscence of the fun times he had had with Jesse not only distracted him, it also brought back a sliver of the happiness he had experienced. Even the most embarrassing instances were bright, despite their being plentiful and mortifying in retrospection; falling from Cow's back, almost kissing Jesse, behaving like a complete brat, falling again even more disgracefully than the first time, poorly reacting to a salacious joke…  
Yesterday had been perfect, impressed with blissful joy. It had a taste of spring after winter, softness after afflictions, and first love after repressive abstinence.

The only dark cloud in the sky was the origin of the words Hanzo had used to summon the Dragons.  
No wonder he had forgotten about their provenance; after his mother's assassination, his childhood had been so dreadful most of it had been consigned to oblivion. His father had taken upon himself to have a failsafe in case he were to meet a similar fate, and that meant turning his own son into a cold iron tower.  
Beyond that point, Hanzo had been considered less as a child and more a blade, put through fire until it was burning-white and then beaten into shape.  
All this torment to make him sharp, indestructible, unfeeling.

Genji had been spared from most of the process because all of Sojiro's expectations rested on Hanzo's shoulders. And maybe, just maybe because the Kumichō had wished to salvage the little that remained of his fatherly love for his favorite son.  
Little did he know at the time that his obedient, gullible firstborn would ultimately destroy what he had been prepared to inherit, and that the writing passion he had seen as silly antics would be the key to Hanzo's second life.

Honestly it was for the best that Sojiro had died too soon. Had Hanzo being mature to take the lead of the clan, who knew what he would have done when the Elders offered that Genji should be 'taken care of'.

Maybe he would have been able to defend his little brother as long as he refrained from publicly humiliating the clan. But how long would that have worked with a free electron that had no inkling of the sense of duty and seemed immune to shame?  
Maybe he would have killed him without a second thought, then spent the rest of his life as a shell filled with regret and haunted by ghosts.

“I dare not think where we could have ended up, had we followed the path my father had traced for us. Even if my current situation is not peculiarly enviable, I do not regret walking astray and bringing Genji along. He was never involved enough in the family's business to care, and he had more ethics than all of us combined. Next to me, his hands are spotless.

I wonder what Jesse would think of me if he knew the full extent of my crimes. Is it remotely comparable to his past? Our backgrounds are similar, but I have my doubts; Jesse was not brought up in crime, he must have had values I was never taught during his criminal years.  
Perhaps he refrained from perpetrating certain things I had no second thoughts doing back then.

Judging someone for their past crimes would seem out of character from an ex-felon, albeit I cannot predict his behavior; if he could withstand hearing about what I have done, I would be so lucky.”

The moment Hanzo was done writing, the numbness washed back over him and he was left struggling against bitter thoughts. The dreams felt good, but they were just dreams. It made reality all the more painful to take in, and that fact was all the more obvious today.  
'What am I doing dallying with a dream? I should be trying to write an actual book, or make more poems before the winter break reaches its end.'  
Hanzo sighed, rubbing his eyes until he could see nothing but a mess of flashing shapes and dots.

His mind drifted to tonight's New Year's Eve party at the Morrison-Reyes and his chest tightened like a vice. He did not feel up to it at all, even less than the previous ones he had missed.  
The hope that he would manage to keep his promise was growing dim.  
Still Hanzo could not bring himself to call and cancel right now. He still had several hours to go through; with a bit of luck his mindset would evolve, and the numbness would transform into eagerness.

After all he would be seeing the closest thing he had for a family after Genji and his friends. He should rejoice at the perspective of spending time with them.  
He really should.

–

Later came and went, and Hanzo still felt the same.

He had settled down in his chair and ended up staying there most of the day, a blanket draped over his shoulders and his knees drawn up to his chest to keep warm. With the heater off, the temperature had drastically dropped in the room. Had the warmth of the neighboring flats not conducted through the thin walls, his would have been freezing cold.

Hanzo had tried to distract himself by watching television, managing to find the rerun of a somewhat tolerable movie. But he had realized much later that he had paid absolutely no attention to it; in fact he had not noticed until the movie ended and switched to a cooking show so ridiculously dramatic that the first seconds gave him a stomach ache.  
Although that might have been the hunger.  
To save power and brain cells, Hanzo had turned the television off. Had he actually been paying for the cable rather than 'sharing' his neighbor's, he would have cancelled it a while ago.

The writer had dragged himself to the cupboard and grabbed a cup of dry noodles. They had absolutely nothing on fresh ramen, but their cheapness and the promotion applied on them at the store would have motivated any picky eater with a light wallet into buying them.

After polishing the cup off, Hanzo had pulled his chair by the window so he could watch the snow fall outside, dense enough to obstruct his usual view and slowly accumulating on every edge.

Eventually he had grown sick of the squeaky air extraction and torn himself out of contemplation to put some music on. More precisely the tracks Jesse had sung in his dreams. There was a whole list of them saved on the writer's laptop, featuring even the few tolerable country songs.  
Hanzo had not been planning on actively listening to them, he had just wanted a better background noise.

Now he could recite The Big Rock Candy Mountains by heart, but it was clearly not much of an accomplishment.  
Besides he still felt the same. If not worse.

–

It was almost six PM and Hanzo had still not given a thought about preparing for tonight. Anxiety had been swelling in his chest as time ticked away, and yet he could still not bring him to prepare. Just considering everything he needed to do gave him a migraine.

He had no idea what to wear. While he did have one suit left of his once sizable collection, he had not worn it in a while. There was a risk it was not presentable at all.  
Even if there was no dress code according to Gabriel, that did not mean Hanzo should show up sloppy. A Shimada must always appear impeccable no matter the circumstances.  
On top of picking an outfit, Hanzo also needed to shower, shave and trim his beard. After days of neglect, it had lost its distinguished shape and looked scruffy. Not as much as Jesse's thankfully, but that was not much of a consolation considering they would not be together in the same room.

The writer was also still unsure about bringing something to eat or drink, regardless of what Gabriel had told him in the cab. Maybe his editor had lied to spare him that concern, and he would be the only one to show up empty-handed.  
He could not bring nothing, he had to somehow thank the couple for inviting him and make up for giving nothing on Christmas. But with the means he had, what could he possibly do? He barely had enough food for one person and sparse condiments, he could not improvise something for ten or more people.

Despite having that mental list, Hanzo's passive procrastinating was relentless.

–

Thirty minutes before he had to leave if he wanted to arrive on time, Hanzo forced himself out of the chair.

Shaving was now off the list for it was not something he could not do well in haste. If someone asked, he could always pretend to be trying something new. Or imitating Gabriel, who tended to let his beard and hair grow during winter only to cut it all in spring.

As he had feared so, his suit was wrinkled and dirty from spending too much time in the pantry. A vigorous patting got most of the grey off the dark fabric, but it still looked awful. Too late to get it washed and pressed of course, what pressing would be opened this evening? And with what money would he pay for it?  
Hanzo could not wear it, but he could not bring himself to show up with blatant casual dressing. Even if his friends did not give a damn about the way he dressed, he did. He had always made it a point to look immaculate for social events, he was known for that.  
Showing up looking the slightest careless would be screaming that he was unwell.

As for bringing food, drinks or even the smallest present, his budget was awfully too thin; he could not buy anything of redeemable quality and pay the rent without starving until his payment next week. While he could have handled a couple days, seven was too much.  
Hanzo could only show up empty-handed and that was intolerable.

They would pity him the moment he would walk in, he knew they would. And if that did not make him snap at them right away, he would surely make a scene later on.  
His mood was never stable at that time of the year; if a curve could be traced to represent the evolutions, its slope would head downward toward infinitely low.

–

Five minutes past his scheduled departing time, Hanzo finally surrendered and faced the fact that he was not going to make it.

He was stuck in the entrance hand hovering over the keys. His unwillingness to unlock the front door would not stand down, and he could not summon the energy to rise above it.  
He did not want to go outside, not tonight. And it had nothing to do with all the ridiculous details that had pilled up all throughout the day and made his preparation difficult. Right now, these were completely meaningless.

The reason for that was the fact that if he had chosen not to go outside years ago, he would not have been here in this miserable flat and Genji-  
Genji would have been awake, probably fussing about the many parties he had been invited to.  
Hanzo would have mocked him, either planning to stay home and work, or maybe attend the celebrations for once.  
Maybe they would have gone together at the same party. Maybe Genji would have had a significant other to introduce, instead of a meaningless fling he cared not to remember the name. Maybe _he_ would have had someone made of flesh and blood to hold him and indulge in the soppy tradition of kissing when midnight struck.

There were so many possibilities, all whisked away by his errors.

Hanzo's countenance faltered and he turned away from the door, wrestling out of his jacket and tearing the scarf from his neck. He threw them aside and sat by the table, passing his hands through his hair. When his countenance vacillated, he rested his head against the cool surface and buried his face in his palms.

When the ache in his eyes became too persistent, he knew that he had to get his phone and contact one of his editors. He was too overwhelmed to calm down. He would never be able to handle the party, surrounded by other people and yet locked in his own head at the mercy of his own thoughts.

Calling was going to be painful, but standing up everybody without a single message was out of the question. Gabriel and Jack, his friends, they did not deserve this.  
He fetched his phone, scrolled through his short contact list to find the Morrison-Reyes' landline. While the tune rang he waited, barely holding himself together. His throat was tight and his hands had gone clammy.  
He hoped no one would pick up. Leaving a message would be so much easier than having to hear disappointment drain the joy from his editors's voices.

When the call finally came through, Hanzo almost suffocated. He swallowed and took a deep breath, an apology on the tip of his tongue. He had to hold it together just for a little longer and spit it out, get on with it-  
“Ola?”

Hanzo blinked, disconcerted and mute.  
The voice, belonging to a woman and accented, was unfamiliar to his ears. Had the couple changed phone numbers and forgot to tell him? Then again, he had never dared call them on their private landline before.

“Evening. Is this the Morrison-Reyes' house?” He finally forced out.  
“Yep. Which one of the dads do you wish to talk to?”  
Who was this? An employee he had not met yet? She sounded a bit too young to be working yet, although the phone might be distorting her voice. Or she was a relative of theirs; judging by her slight accent and the snappiness of her tone, his bet was on Gabriel's.

“Whichever is the closest, thank you. It is Hanzo Shimada by the way.”  
There was a small pause, long enough to make Hanzo hesitate. “Is this a bad time?  
\- No, not at all! Hold on a sec' please.” His unknown interlocutor replied quickly. Then the line was muted.  
So Hanzo obliged, waiting and nervously biting the inside of his cheek.

A couple minutes later, the white noise ceased and Jack's voice boomed in the writer's ear:  
“Hey Hanzo! I was just about to check up on you! Where are you at now?” The jolliness in his tone made Hanzo want to both smile and hurl.  
“Good evening.” He replied, throat completely parched. Maybe he should have drunk some water while he had the chance. “I am calling to tell you that I will not make it to the party.” He announced in one go.

There was a mixture of confused voices and sounds in the background. Had guests arrived already? Was Hanzo on speaker? He dearly hoped not.  
The row lasted until Jack spoke again. “Wait, what do you mean? Are you stuck in the transports? It's pretty early, you still have plenty of time to make it. If there is absolutely no traffic, one of us can come to pick you up-  
\- No that is not-... I-I am still at the flat.” He forced the words out, shame crushing him. “I will be staying there for the night.”

Again there was a confused hubbub in the background, until the noise level suddenly dropped. Jack must have moved to a less populated room for privacy. “Is something wrong?” The man asked, coming in clearer now that he had disabled the speaker. Worry transpired through his voice, making Hanzo bristle. Just as predicted, it was painful.  
“Well I-” He hesitated, struggling to get his voice on track. A sniffle escaped him and he hoped the mic had not picked it up. “I cannot come.” He finally answered with strenuous effort. “I cannot be there while-” the name got painfully stuck in his throat and he clenched his free hand into a fist until the nails dug in his palm. “I can’t.”

There was a light sigh. It was not the usual grunt Jack made when he was disappointed, it was something much softer and sadder. “It's alright, I understand. Will you be alright? I can come over to stay with you and keep you company for the n-  
\- No.” Hanzo abruptly cut out of panic, before hurriedly adding in a more subdued tone: “No, I will be fine. I just need a quiet evening. Please enjoy your party, the last thing I want is to deprive your husband and guests of your presence.” He swallowed. “Will you tell them I am terribly sorry for not attending?  
\- Hanzo it's okay-  
\- Please, tell them. I said I would try.” He breathed, his shoulders slumping and his back arching until his forehead was back against the table. “I promised.  
\- I’ll tell them, don’t worry. It's okay. Just take it easy and call us if you need anything, alright?  
\- I will. Thank you Jack.” He whispered, even though he was not going to call them again tonight.

The weight on Hanzo's shoulders only got heavier after he ended the call, his chest so tight he could hardly breathe. The moment he stood, he felt about to physically crumble.  
He moved to his room and dropped his cellphone on the bedside table, before collapsing on the futon without a care for the clothes he was wearing.  
The back of his head had barely hit the pillow that his eyes stung anew, his vision getting blurry on the edges. Hanzo shut his eyes as tight as he could to hold the tears back, burying his face in the nook of his arm. But it was a fight he could never win.  
The tears freely ran down, coursing along his face to finish into his sideburns. His lungs and heart painfully constricted with the urge of sobbing, yet he kept quiet, shuddering and breathing through his mouth when his nose unavoidably clogged up.

The faint, pathetic whimper he failed to retain seemed so loud in the heavy silence.

As the minutes passed Hanzo's mind ventured to places that only got darker and darker. Then emerging from the sludge, a memory broken and rehashed reappeared; it was the worst evening of his life. The one where everything had gone wrong.  
He did not know why these memories were coming back so vividly after years of blur, spotted with blanks but clearer than they had ever been.

The accident had occurred on New Year's Day, two hours past midnight.

Hanzo had been working his ass off to finish a novel, gone several days on a row without a decent night of sleep. Coffee and stimulants had kept him on the tracks so far, but the missed sleep had started weighing on him.  
He had shut his computer off and considered passing out in his bed when his phone had gone off.

Genji had called him because he needed a ride home; his “friends” had ditched him to go to another bar, his designated driver was too drunk to bring him back and he did not have enough cash left for a cab.

After being subjected to his little brother's whining (if not shouting because it was so loud around him), the writer had been tempted to decline and hang up. Genji had been twenty-five years old at the time, but he had kept on behaving irresponsibly and denying the consequences of his actions.

Hanzo had been exhausted, suffering a severe migraine, most likely caused by the accumulated fatigue. Leaving Genji to deal with his situation alone had been really tempting.  
Yet the writer's restless worry and the sheer nightmare that someone might take advantage of his drunkenness to do God knows what killed his refusal in the egg. Even though assassins had stopped coming after them years ago, his instincts and paranoia had remained intact.

Disgruntled, Hanzo had accepted to pick up Genji, not without calling him an “irresponsible little shit” the moment he had hung up.  
Right before leaving he had taken an extra dose of stimulant, just to make sure he would not nod off at the wheel. 'Surely nothing bad would ensue of that,' he had thought.

How wrong had he been...

~

_“Come on, can't you put some music on?” Genji moaned, reaching for the radio station only to have his hand slapped away._  
_“I have a headache, silence is better.” Hanzo bit back, eyes on the road. “Besides you are already half-deaf judging from the way you are shouting. Could you keep it down?_  
_\- You're such a bore Anija. I still can't believe you're only three years older than me.” Genji grumbled, letting his head slump against the window._

_Hanzo threw a brief glance at his little brother and winced; with the ridiculous amount of gel his green hair carried, the locks were going to leave gross smudges on the glass. He had a feeling Genji was doing it on purpose sometimes._  
_“And I cannot believe you are three years younger than me. You really ought to stop partying this much. I know it is the New Year's Eve, but this is unreasonable.” He sighed acerbically. “You are not a teenager anymore-”_  
_An undignified groan cut him off. “Can we wait till we’re home for that?” Genji waved, resting a hand over his forehead. “I had one last shot before I left and it’s starting an argument with the previous ones._  
_\- What if I had been unable to come? What would you have done then?_  
_\- I would have found a nice, good-looking Samaritan and stayed home with them for the night. And probably engage into the kind of activities people usually have in bed outside of sleeping. Not that you would know about it, but I can enlighten you on the subject-_  
_\- Genji._  
_\- Fine. I’ll take my credit card with me next time since it bothers you so much.”_

_Hanzo opened his mouth to deny the statement, but failed to find a rebuttal. It did bother him to be his brother's designated driver, he could not lie about that. But on the other hand he was always relieved to bring Genji back to safety, even at ungodly hours._  
_“Please, you'd lose your card even if it was chained to your hip.” He retorted with the smallest smirk. “At least I will not worry about you crashing at some stranger’s place, and I will take care of you if you get sick._  
_\- That's only because you're afraid I'll puke everywhere and you'll feel compelled to give money away for the cleaning.” Genji replied, although smiling a little._  
_Hanzo had always made it a point to pull his little brother through hangovers, even if they had parted after a heated argument that had driven Genji to drink; it usually ended up with a disgusting mess to clean, but Hanzo did not mind when it came to taking care of his little brother and making amends._  
_As featherbrained as Genji was, he was not insensitive to his sibling's dedication. And his gratitude meant a lot to Hanzo, whether it was expressed in the midsts of near alcohol coma or soberly._

_There was a silence punctuated the soft jangling of pearls as Genji played with his bracelets, until Hanzo spoke again. “Right before you called, I actually finished my book._  
_\- Good for you.” Genji muttered, not peculiarly enthralled; he was understandably sour because Hanzo had missed his birthday and two expositions of his work over that novel._  
_The older brother pursued nonetheless: “Since it is now out of the way, I was thinking we should go on a vacation together. It has been too long since our last one and... I miss spending time with you.”_

_He saw Genji shift from the corner of his eye, staring at him with his eyes wide in surprise. “Really? As in really-really?” He squeaked, as if he could not believe what he just heard._  
_“Really-really._  
_\- But where?_  
_\- Well if I am not mistaking, you have taken a high interest in Nepal lately._  
_\- Oh my god you were actually listening to me back then? You are not serious are you?” Genji marveled._

_His increasing excitement was slowly getting to Hanzo, who threw another quick glance at his brother and cracked a smile. “Are you not the first to claim that I am always too serious?” He taunted Genji before he focused back on the road._  
_“Don't tease Anija! You'd really want to take me on a trip to Nepal?_  
_\- If that can make up for all the times I was a shitty brother, then yes.” Hanzo hummed._

That was as far as he could remember before the accident happened.  
From that point everything was messy. All Hanzo could remember were fragments and sensations; a brief panic, acute awareness. The leather creaking beneath his irresponsive fingers, seams digging in his palms.

And suddenly nothing. Consciousness slipping away. Bits of reminiscence in complete disorder. He had tried connecting them to no avail and he still could not tie them together.  
A quake, a terrifying row of metal scrapping and broken glass, in which a startled cry was almost drowned. A loud screeching tearing through his temples, his back slamming against the seat.  
The entire world spinning, his body flung around like a doll in a dishwasher and pain radiating with each impact. Ankles painfully pinned beneath something. Sharp ache blazing through his skull like thunder.  
And Genji's panicked voice, sounding so close and far at the same time as he called his name...

_Hanzo slowly came to, every part of his body benumbed. A dull ringing resonated in his head, getting sharper by the second. His vision was just a hazy mixture of bright and dark blotches._  
_He felt smothered and uncomfortable, hot fumes making him choke. A hoarse cough left him aching all over._  
_Unable to think, partially deaf and blind, he rolled on his front and crawled away from the heat. Broken glass littered the surface beneath him, piercing the skin of his palms when he put weight on his hands._  
_Nonetheless Hanzo pushed on, until he was lying in fresh grass and dirt. He inhaled; cool air filled his lungs._  
_His head dropped into the fresh moisture and his mind slipped away._

_~_

_When Hanzo came to a second time, he was aware enough to pinpoint which areas of his body hurt the most; a vicious pain was drilling through his brain, his palms were bleeding and one of his ankles was most likely sprained._  
_He slowly sat up and took in his surroundings, confused. There were tall pine trees before him, their bark enlightened by moonlight and an orange glow. Where was he? What was going on?_  
_The sound of crackling and the heat coming from behind him made him look over his shoulder. Confusion replaced stupefaction, which then gave way to shock._

_His car, or rather what was once his car, was upside-down. Flames were devouring the engine and most of the overturned carcass, smoke pouring out from the twisted metal. The windows were all broken, and in the middle of the damaged windshield was-_  
_“Genji.” Hanzo whispered, his voice barely audible over the fire._  
_His brother was face-down, halfway through the glass. And like the car, he was burning._

_Violent horror reached through the veil of the concussion and grabbed Hanzo by the throat, making him choke on a scream. “Genji!” He yelled, standing up to his feet as rapidly as he could._  
_He almost immediately collapsed because of his bad ankle and the vertigo ensued by his concussion. But he planted his good foot into the ground and hobbled to the car as fast as he could, adrenaline pumping through his blood and endorphin numbing most of the pain._

_Careless of the broken glass all over the grass, Hanzo fell to his knees beside Genji. Ignoring the flames, he kicked down the rest of the windshield and grabbed his little brother by the shoulders. Heat bit in Hanzo's bleeding hands and forced a cry out of him, yet he did not let go. With all his might he pulled Genji away from the car, the only coherent thought he could summon being that he had to get his little brother out of here._

_As soon as they were far enough from the burning wreckage, Hanzo tore his coat off and put out the flames still eating his brother's body. He could barely see; his eyes were teary from smoke, pain and distress altogether, and the concussion made it hard to focus._  
_“Genji.” He panted, his bloody hands hovering hesitantly over his brother's chest._  
_He wanted to wake him up, shake him until he gave a sign of life. But there was not a single spot of his body left unharmed. Where there was no smoldering fabric, there was raw skin either burned or bloody. And that was just the external wounds; the odds that Genji had broken bones or internal bleeding were awfully high._  
_By moving his little brother out of the car, Hanzo might have aggravated them._

_Fighting to stay in control, Hanzo rummaged in his pockets then looked around; his phone was nowhere to be seen, probably broken or somewhere in the burning car. He cautiously searched what was left of Genji's clothes and found his cell in a torn pant pocket, but it had not survived the crash; the screen was in pieces and the heat had probably finished it off._

_Hanzo was lucid enough to tell that the situation was critical. He had no means of contact, could not move his brother without worsening his injuries and he could not leave his side to search for help. And he still had not taken Genji's vitals._  
_He hovered over his little brother, trying to pick the faint sound of a shallow breath. But the fire behind him was too loud. Then he reached for Genji's neck, pressing his fingers on a spot unharmed. But his hands were in so much pain, he could not feel anything anymore._

_Afraid that his little brother's heart might have stopped, Hanzo engaged in CPR. He started compressing his sternum, praying that no broken rib would damage Genji's lungs._  
_“Please, please stay with me. Don't die, I beg of you.” He implored over and over until his voice broke. Each compression he gave his brother's chest sent white pain from his hands to his elbows. “This cannot be! Genji wake up please!"_

_Beating all the odds against them, someone arrived. A woman clumsily descended the slope on high heels, clenching her coat closed with one hand and a bulky cellphone in the other. Either she had seen the fire or heard the desperate pleas Hanzo had been screaming without realizing it._

_The writer thought he was hallucinating when he saw her. But then she looked at him and he knew she was real._  
_“Help us please!” He begged, his head pounding at the sound of his own voice. “Call an ambulance!”_  
_The second after he wondered; what if she was responsible for the car accident? What if she was an assassin?_  
_But the woman froze in place, shocked by the scene; between the burning car and Genji's state, there was much to be for any civilian. An assassin would not have been taken aback by the destruction. This woman was just a bystander, and Hanzo's only hope at getting help._

_“Please.” He sobbed. His strength was weakening rapidly, sapped by the waves of pain assaulting his senses. And Genji was still showing no sign of life._  
_The woman seemed to steel herself and approached them. “Okay, okay! I-I’m making the call.” She stuttered, dialing the emergency number and raising the phone to her ear._  
_“Thank you.” Hanzo whispered. Another vertigo nearly made him drop on top of Genji, but he forced himself to stay conscious._  
_He had to, or Genji might die._

_Then a hand shyly poked his shoulder and he looked up; the woman was now handing him her cell. “I'm sorry but I can’t stay. You take it.” She said in a hushed tone._  
_Hanzo looked at her speechless, taking the apparatus from her hand without a word. She immediately turned around and fled the scene before he could get his voice back, leaving him alone with his dying brother._

_If Genji had not been in such a critical state and Hanzo so dizzy, he would have chased after her. Between his wounded ankle and her heels, he had a chance to catch up on her. But there was no time for that._  
_Sticking the phone between his head and shoulder, Hanzo continued pressing and releasing Genji's chest._

_In this ear, the chime ended and a voice answered. “You have reached the Help center, What is your emergency?_  
_\- My brother and I, w-we had a car accident.” Hanzo stammered. His forehead stung and a string of fresh blood ran down over his brow. He hastily wiped his face against his arm before it could get into his eye. “Please send us an ambulance._  
_\- What is your phone number?_  
_\- I-” Hanzo stumbled. He had never called the Help center, he was taken aback by the question. But he shook it off and replied as clearly as he could: “I do not know, this phone is not mine and its owner left._  
_\- Sir I need to verify this number and have it saved in case we need to call you back._  
_\- I am telling you I do not know it! The owner, she just gave me their phone and left!” He should have searched for his phone when he had the chance. Although it was probably in a worse state than Genji’s if it was still in the car._

_“Alright, just stay on the line okay?” The operator replied. “What is your name and where are you?_  
_\- Hanzo Shimada. I-I am not sure where we are. We are down a slope and there are pine trees all around us.” Hanzo winced as he made an effort to remember the itinerary he had taken._  
_“Our location software says Crescent Lake Park, do you confirm this location?”_  
_The park. He had gone through it so many times, this was the first time they had an accident. Why was this happening now?_  
_“Yes. We were on a departmental road, the forty-seven A. We were coming from the West entry of the park._  
_\- D47A, West entry. Did you pass any of the intersections with the other roads?_  
_\- Just the first. I-I cannot remember seeing the second or the third._  
_\- It's alright Hanzo, this info already narrow down the area drastically. Now tell me exactly what happened._  
_\- I cannot remember. I was driving us home and we-I-our car left the road somehow.” Hanzo panted, clenching his eyes shut. The headache was so bad, just trying to recall the events hurt. “I can't remember a single thing.”_

_There was a detonation coming from the wreckage and he instinctively shielded Genji; the fire, he had almost forgotten about it. On the phone, he distinctively heard the operator asking about the noise. “My car. It is on fire.” He replied, blinking to stay conscious._  
_“Are you still inside?_  
_\- No, no I-” Had he been in the car after the crash? Or had he been ejected? His memory was failing him. He had woken up on the grass and everything prior to that was gone. “I woke up on the ground right next to the car. My brother was halfway out and I pulled him away. I should not have moved him, but he was-” Hanzo had to pause, tasting bile on the back of his throat. The smell of burnt fuel, plastic, metal and flesh was increasingly stronger with each breath he drew, powerful and overwhelming. “He was burning.”_

_A heave shook him, rendering him almost unconscious. He nearly missed the operator talking in his ear: “Sir it's alright. By doing this you put both him and yourself to safety. Now tell me, how old are the two of you?_  
_\- I am twenty-eight, Genji is twenty-five._  
_\- Are you injured?_  
_\- I have a head wound, my hands are bleeding and I think my ankle is sprained. But my brother, he is-,” he looked down at Genji and his panic flared anew, “h-he has cuts and burns all over his body, probably broken bones too._  
_\- Is he conscious?_  
_\- No. I cannot tell if he's still breathing or if he even has a pulse. I have been giving him CPR but I can't-I am not going to last long.” He forced out, choking on his own breath._  
_“Sir it's alright. An ambulance and a truck of firemen are on the way. ETA five minutes. Can you-”_

_Hanzo could hear the operator talk, but he could no longer comprehend what they were saying anymore. It was as if they were talking in a foreign language._  
_He tried to focus, but his head was now spinning too fast. His vision filled with spots and the voice on the phone faded away, along with the background noise of the roaring fire and the distant sirens._

_Before Hanzo could understand what was happening to him, he collapsed by Genji's side. The phone slipped from his blood-stained fingers and he helplessly watched the contour of his little brother's damaged face before a veil fell before his eyes._

~

It took hours for Hanzo to run out of tears, his sideburns sticking to his skin and his sleeve wet. The painful tightness in his chest had barely lost in vigor, still making it hard for him to breathe.

Midnight must have struck recently, for he could hear people celebrating in the residence and the others blocks. Someone was even having a miniature firework in the street, the detonations reverberating on the walls of the buildings.  
Hanzo's phone had vibrated a few times, moving on the surface of the bedside table and now dangerously close to the edge. But he could not be bothered to reach out for it.

In fact, Hanzo could no longer bear to stay conscious. He needed sleep, he needed evasion right now.  
He needed Jesse.

Without turning the lights on, he made his way to the bathroom. Sodium light was pouring through the uncovered window, reminiscing him of the glow of the fire.  
After a painful heave, Hanzo managed to swallow a Benzo with tap water. The pill left a bitter taste in his mouth and a sticky feeling in his tight throat, but this unpleasantness was nothing compared to the relief it would soon bring.

As Hanzo put the box away, he involuntarily caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror; from the little he could see in the semi-darkness, he was a right mess.  
With a disgusted wince, he turned away.

He shook the wrinkled suit jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall on the floor before he slumped back on the futon. Tuning out the celebrations going on all around him, he remained in a state of agony until sleep finally found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are looking for me, I will be in the trashcan for the night ᕕʕ ;> ᴥ >ʔᕗ
> 
>  ***WARNING*:** car accident, brief description of wounds, blood  
>  also THIS CHAPTER WILL MAKE YOU SAD you might wanna keep a tissue nearby


	34. Contemplation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING*:** Check end notes before reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY Y'ALL? BEEN A WHILE ٩ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ۶  
> For starters, thank you a bunch for the kudos and the sweet, sweet comments you posted ｡:°ʕ;´ᴥ`;ʔ°:｡ it keeps me running and I highly appreciate your input!
> 
> I'm sorry I sat on that chapter for longer than intended. I was not very happy with it and tweaked it till the last second before I posted it. Even now I am not completely satisfied, but I can't keep y'all waiting ʕ•̤̀ᴥ•̤́ʔ
> 
> [Anyway here's the art cover for this chapter](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/173868923141/lucid-dream-there-is-a-new-chapter-in-town), hope you'll like it cause I'm pretty happy about it ヾʕ〃＾ᴥ＾ʔﾉ♪
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter ʕ๑ᵕॢ૩ᵕॢʔ*౨˚ൗ ♥

The first thing Hanzo saw when he opened his eyes was Jesse.

The plain was in complete darkness, the moon obstructed by clouds. The only source of light was the fire, smaller yet still strong enough to keep the two men cozy. The wind had downgraded to a soft breeze lazily blowing over the hills, carrying a scent of horse and fresh dew.

Jesse was right by Hanzo's side, bundled up in his blanket. His hat had slid sideway during his sleep, and the glow of the fire was just strong enough for the archer to examine the cowboy's face in details.  
He had a most appeased expression that made him seem younger. His eyes were barely moving behind his lids, leaving his long eyelashes undisturbed. His mouth was slightly ajar and a discreet sigh escaped him every now and then, barely louder than the crickets chirping in and the crunching noise of Sis chewing grass nearby.  
Jesse was usually noisier and messier than that when he slept; the archer had found him on some mornings with his mouth wide open and a dry trail of saliva on his beard, snoring hard enough to wake the dead. A display slightly repulsive, which Hanzo condoned because he probably did the same too time to time.  
But right now the cowboy was simply beautiful, and the breath-taking sight pulled the strings of the archer's heart like a violin, filling his chest with music.

Hanzo thoughtlessly raised his hand to caress Jesse's face; his fingers were just centimeters away from the man's cheek before he aborted the gesture and looked away, stunned and ashamed of himself. It would be desperate folly to let his desire overcome what little remained of his reason.

After a long sigh, Hanzo sat up and attended to the fire to keep busy, stirring it and adding some dry branches once he had made enough room in the stone circle. He was unsure why he had woken up in the middle of the night; that was the first time this had occurred in the dreamworld.  
He had awaken once before dawn, but that had been in the lugubrious part of the Forest, where it was often too dark to tell the time accurately. And that had been the fault of a ghostly, ghastly owl sitting on his chest.

Since the time span between his first dreams used to be incoherent, he did not think too much of it. He was more concerned by the suffering that had followed him in his sleep. His chest still felt tight, his head hurt and his heart clenched painfully with each beat. Revived sadness clung to his core, its grip just as powerful as before.  
Maybe he had been foolish to think he could escape his sufferance here. As appeasing as the peace all around him was, it could not make tonight's pain go away.

Fully awaken now, Hanzo stretched, adjusted his Obi and tightened the ribbon around his hair. If he had to go through the whole night in that state, he might as well stay here for as long as he could. It was better than being walled in by his own flat and smothered by grief, while celebrations were going on all around him.  
Here he was in a comforting, harmonious place just unfamiliar enough to keep him vigilant, and he had company he could not cowardly avoid. His mind was still bundled up in layers of agony and guilt, but his focus was not completely centered within himself at least.

A dull thumping distracted him from his thoughts; Sis was walking around the camp at a lazy pace, grass falling from her mouth as she finished chewing. She stopped right by Hanzo’s side and bumped her muzzle against his temple, messing his already disarranged sideburns.  
“What is it?” He whispered before he remembered he was dealing with a horse; a cunning one with the ability to travel wherever she pleased, but nonetheless an animal unable to talk.  
In response she blew warm air out of her nostrils right against his ear, making him shudder from head to toe.  
“I am not in the mood to socialize with you or whatever that means.” Hanzo sighed, cupping her nose and giving it a gentle shove. As she pushed back and nudged his head again, he gave her a little flick. “Having a ponytail does not make me a pony. Go bother an actual horse will you?”

After a minute of shenanigans, Sis eventually gave up and pulled away. Her ears were slightly tilted back and her eyes seemed to be glaring at Hanzo. If he were to guess, the horse was most likely thinking 'you are no fun'.  
“I am not a fun person, I thought that was obvious.” Hanzo muttered, rearranging his hair.  
“Well that's a fat lie if I ever heard one.”

Hanzo jumped and turned the other way around; Jesse was propping himself up on one elbow while rubbing his eyes, his Stetson back on the top of his head.  
“I woke you up with my berating. I am so sorry.” Hanzo hastily said.  
“Naw 's a'right.” Jesse muttered, his voice raw from sleep. “I tend to sleep light after dealin' with Wendigos. However that's the first time I find ya awake at this hour. Usually ya're sleepin' like a baby.”

Hanzo must have been making a face because Jesse squinted at him and fully sat up. “Ya don't look okay. Is somethin' on yer mind?  
\- Are you usually this inquisitive when you wake up?” Hanzo retorted, picking at the grass by his feet to avoid Jesse's searching eyes.  
The cowboy gave an enormous yawn, stretching his arms before replying: “Only when I wake up to the tragedy of a gorgeous face lookin' sad.  
\- A recurrent occurrence with your bed partners I am sure.” Hanzo scoffed.  
“Ya have no idea.”

They shared a heartfelt chuckle, then Jesse's persisting glances and his not being alone on this _special_ day for the first time in years coaxed Hanzo into opening up.  
“It is nothing. I merely had a rough sleep.” He whispered, his eyes lowering on the red embers.  
Jesse shifted position, sitting up and adjusting the serape around his shoulders. “Nightmares?  
\- You can call it that.  
\- Shucks darlin'. Have ya been awake for long?  
\- A few minutes at most? I did not want to disturb you.  
\- Don't blame ya, that's real gentlemanly. I jus' wish I could've woken up sooner to pinch yer arm y'know?” The cowboy gave Hanzo's arm a small nudge. “Better be woken up from a bad dream before it gets any worse than livin' it from beginnin' to end.  
\- You could not have predicted that I would have a bad night.” Hanzo huffed, looking away from the fire. He had gazed at the embers for too long and now had an obnoxious spots flashing before his eyes. “I appreciate your kind thought nonetheless. Waking up sooner would have been nice.”

Once his vision has gone back to normal, he allowed himself to study Jesse once more; the cowboy stood out in the near darkness, the fire casting warm shades on his clothes and skin. It even reflected in his eyes, giving them an hypnotizing gleam.  
For a brief moment Hanzo let the longing take hold of his heart. A barely audible sigh escapes his lips.

Oblivious to the staring, Jesse stretched again and leaned back with a pleased groan. “Hey, lay down an' look up 'ere. Got somethin' to show ya” He smiled, patting a spot next to his head.  
Despite the grass being wet with dew, Hanzo took his offer. A few crickets flew away as he shifted, briefly enlightened by the fire until they disappeared in the tall grass.  
Once Hanzo was settled, he looked up and gasped softly, his eyes widening.  
“From the face ya're makin' right now, I'm guessin' ya've never seen a sky like that.” Jesse chuckled.  
“Indeed.” Hanzo admitted in a soft whisper, absorbed by the spectacle above him.

The sky was no longer obstructed, the mass of clouds having dissipated at some point. And the resulting sight could not be more magnificent.  
Countless stars decorated the sky, so many that the night shade was more blue than black. In the middle of it all stood a waxing gibbous moon, radiant and basking in a silver glow.

“Even though ya were up ‘ere before ya crashed in the desert?”  
It took Hanzo a couple seconds to notice that Jesse had spoken, then a couple more to understand what he was referring to. “It looked very different, and I never took the time for star gazing.” He simply said before losing himself in contemplation.  
That last bit was actually true; the luminous pollution of the cities had always been his nocturnal lot, even in Hanamura. Only during his vacations abroad had he got the chance to see unpolluted skies, but never this starry.  
Here Hanzo could see all the stars, as if the earth in this dreamworld was a flat plate and the sky a dome over it. He identified a few dots as planets, the brightest stars such as Sirius and Canopus, the denser amalgam of stars that made the Milky Way... He could see it all.

His eyes ached as many emotions swelled in his chest. He felt so small, so insignificant when there was space in all its splendor above him. His grief, his problems, his entire life meant nothing to this vast universe.  
It seemed so far and yet so close at the same time, making him want to reach out for the stars.  
Which he did, too woeful to feel silly about it.  
“It is beautiful.” He sighed.

“Amen darlin'.” Jesse agreed quietly, before he stretched his arms above his head with a groan. His hand accidentally brushed Hanzo's raised one, the small contact enough to give the archer's entire arm goose bumps.  
“Watch it.” Hanzo muttered as he gave the incriminated hand no more than a light tap.  
“Sorry, 's hard to keep my hands off o' ya.” Jesse gave him a lopsided grin, scuttling even closer to the archer.

Hanzo turned his head to retort with some dry wit, when a faint smell made his nose wrinkle. He had not smelled it in some time and yet he immediately knew what it was.  
“Jesse McCree, have you been drinking?” He asked instead, baffled.

Jesse's eyes widened comically. “Maybe I did?” He replied meekly, drawling the ‘a’ hesitantly.  
As Hanzo looked away with a disbelieving sound, the cowboy pouted. “Last night ya fell asleep before I did an' I got real bored, so I drank a li'l. An' it's the New Year, so basically the right occasion for a drink!  
\- You think it is something to celebrate?” Hanzo snickered bitterly before he could hold himself back. “I mean… Perhaps you think so, but I cannot share your enthusiasm. Personally this year was horrible to me. Not counting our meeting and a few parts of this journey of course, do not be silly.” He hurriedly added as Jesse grabbed his own chest with an overplayed gasp and contorted in pain. “But in all honesty, how does one expect the next year to be better after such a bad one? What if it gets worse beyond that point?”

Jesse flipped on his side and locked eyes with Hanzo. “That's the thing darlin'. Last year was more or less shitty for me too, with the exception of our meeting an' the time we spent together. But that's all the more reasons to bury it an' dance on the fuckin' grave. Whether next year's better or worse, we gotta live in the present. An’ nothin' is written, maybe this next year will be the greatest of our lives or the first o' many good times.  
\- I suppose there is some truth to that.” Hanzo sighed, focusing back on the stars. He wished he could simply detach himself from the past and live now without feeling constantly weighed down.  
But his past was tied too tightly to his present, he could not escape it.  
He could not move on when Genji was still suffering and would probably keep on suffering the consequences of his actions for the rest of his life.

A finger nudged the tip of his nose, tearing him out of his thoughts. “Why are ya makin' that sour face? D'ya need more encouragement?  
\- No.” Hanzo scowled, grabbing Jesse's hand and pinching the hairy skin on its back. The cowboy pulled back with a yelp that almost made him grin. “I am actually offended that you have been carrying alcohol around all this time and not once offered to share.”  
Even though Hanzo had avoided buying some to save money and keep his depression from getting worse, he still missed the quality saké and refined wine he had had the chance to taste before his downfall. Whatever Jesse had on him, he would be more than happy to have at least a glass.  
Especially now of all times.

“Well uhm, sugar, lemme make up for that terrible affront.” Jesse said as he hurriedly rummaged in his pockets, until he dug up a gourde and handed it to Hanzo. The archer raised an eyebrow; between endless ammunition, the sewing kit and now alcohol, the cowboy's pockets were truly full of surprises.  
“There ya go. Ya can have some, if ya don’t mind me drinkin’ from it. I swear I didn’t put spit in it.  
\- That may surprise you but that is the least of my problems at the moment. Thank you very much.” Hanzo grabbed the metallic container and promptly unscrew the cap.

A corrosive smell immediately assaulted his nose and he flinched, pulling the canteen away from his face. “What the hell is this? Paint thinner?  
\- 'S called forty-rod whiskey sweetheart. Considerin' I took ya for a tenderfoot when we first met, I thought knocking one back might knock ya out.  
\- You have been drinking this beverage every time?  
\- Only on occasions, I prefer beer most of the time. But it ain't that bad once ya get used to it.  
\- Such unsophisticated taste. One day I will offer you a real, proper drink. Good saké, perfumed with cherry blossoms. Then you shall see which is the best.  
\- Lookin' forward to it.” Jesse winked.  
“Likewise.” Hanzo smirked.

He brought the canteen back and apprehensively took a small sip. Only to wince at the taste, for it was just as foul as it smelled and it did not burn the same way saké did; while one had a rich flavor and left a warmth pleasant and cozy like a wood fire linger in the throat, the other was practically corrosive, not unlike solvent.

Smothering a cough, Hanzo looked back up at the sky. If Jesse had heard the stifled sound or noticed his humid eyes, he did not comment.  
Instead he raised his arm above their head, breaking into the archer's field of view as he pointed at the sky. “Lemme show ya a thing or two, that'll help ya forget the taste.” He grinned, gesturing at the many stars above them. “This constellation? That's the gallopin’ horse. Right there ya got the small pan. This one's a dude with a hammer, and right there's a good dog-  
\- This is Leo actually.” Hanzo cut. “The galloping horse is Ursa Major. The small pan is Ursa Minor, and the ‘dude’ with a hammer is Hercules holding a mace if I remember correctly.”  
As Jesse looked abash, he could not stop from smirking. “You do not know a thing about constellations, do you?  
\- Shucks sweetheart, ya got me figured out.”

Hanzo laughed, then showed Jesse the different shapes he recognized. While the cowboy seemed happy to know more, he also kept coming up with different configurations more or less ridiculous.  
“Ya gotta be messin' with me here.” Jesse sniggered in disbelief, frowning at the three stars Hanzo had singled out. “There's no way that's a lion cub ya're showin' me.  
\- I assure you that this is Leo Minor.” Hanzo replied, barely concealing his amusement at Jesse's stubborn refutal of established constellations. “I know it is difficult to see a lion cub in that pattern, but-  
\- Pattern? That's a freakin' triangle. Even with lotsa imagination, I don't see how ya can make anythin' resemblin' a cub outta that.” The cowboy replied incredulously. “Fuck it, I'm callin' it the space tortilla chip. An' I've been tryin' my best for mini bear, but all I can see is a big casserole.  
\- I suppose star gazing is not unlike observing clouds and guessing the shapes. Two people might not see the same thing.” Hanzo murmured.  
Had someone told him he would have a conversation on constellations with a drunk cowboy in the middle of nowhere, he would have asked them what they were smoking and if he could try some.  
“The old civilizations made different maps of the sky based on where they made their observations and what cultural believes they associated to the patterns they saw in the stars. They did have a lot of imagination.  
\- Surely more than me if they could see a lion in a triangle.” Jesse nodded, a dreamy look on his face. “Ya sure know lotsa things ‘bout constellations for a guy who's never seen a sky like that before.  
\- I had to look them up for a novel and ended up absorbing more astronomy than I would ever need in a lifetime. The knowledge stuck to me.” Hanzo replied without thinking.

He only noticed his mistake when Jesse turned his head to face him and said: “A novel hey? Ya’re a writer pardner?”  
Hanzo nearly twisted his neck as he faced the cowboy, quickly assessing his expression. The man was amazed, his face bearing no signs of the confusion he had shown back when the writer had claimed loud and clear that this world was all a dream.  
“I mean, ya struck me as a refined kinda man from the moment we met. The more I learned 'bout ya, the more ya proved my impression right; ya're a Dragon man, a musician, shy singer, skilled archer and great shooter. Writin' seems like the kinda thing a guy like ya can do.”

Hanzo was speechless, taken aback by his slip. He had to improvise quickly or tell the blatant truth. Since he was too mentally drained to do the first, he went for the second.  
“You have figured me out.” He smiled weakly. “I am indeed a writer. _Was_ , actually. It helped me live until my inspiration vanished into smoke.” He muttered before taking another sip of the flask. “This is truly vile. How can you stand drinking this?  
\- Sorry darlin’, I know it really ain’t the best. Got it in a jiffy at Nine-toes Daisy, t’was the only thing I could afford.  
\- I see. Well I think I just figured what happened to Daisy’s tenth toe.” Hanzo deadpanned with a steady glare at the bottle. “However I am not certain if it was accidental or if she meant to improve the taste.”

Jesse swallowed down a chuckle, then he turned on his side to face Hanzo. His eyes were practically shining with devouring curiosity. “Say, what kind o' stuff d'ya write?”  
It would be much simpler to sum up what Hanzo had not tried so he would not have to go into details. Or not answer at all; as much as he enjoyed enlightening Jesse, that was not a subject that put him in a peculiarly good mood.  
However the enjoyment that the star gazing and the cowboy's bantering had gifted to Hanzo, combined with the cozy warmth induced by alcohol, made him more inclined to talk about it.  
“I have written many things really, tried almost every genre on the spectrum.  
\- Almost? Which ones didn't ya give a go to?  
\- For instance I have not tried theater and screenplays, for it never appealed to me. Comedies even less, for my sense of humor is lacking. Whatever I attempt is too dark, odd, lacks in modern references or is so subtle it flies over most people's heads.  
\- Well I think ya can be pretty funny, but maybe I'm jus' yer right audience.  
\- Or you are biased because you find me handsome and will laugh at anything I say to earn my approval.  
\- I can't fake a laugh for shit an' ya're so sharp ya woulda noticed. What else didn't ya try?  
\- Historical stories. Searching for detailed documentation is a painstaking process I do not peculiarly enjoy.  
\- An' yet ya know almost all o' the constellations up 'ere.  
\- Celestial maps are rather easy to find. And astronomy is, in my opinion, more fascinating than human history. ”  
Jesse nodded slowly, taking a cigar out of his pocket and thoughtfully playing with it as he stared at Hanzo. The archer frowned, wondering if he had something on his face.  
Then the cowboy suddenly asked: “Ever tried love stories?”

Hanzo almost choked. “Gods and Dragons help us all. No I did not.” He sputtered, his face heating up. Why did this question flustered him so, he had not the faintest clue.  
Until he realized that he had been basically writing romance by describing his exact feelings for Jesse in his compendium.  
“Why not? There's plenty to say an' write 'bout love.” Jesse pursued, either unaware of Hanzo's embarrassment or gentlemanly not calling it out.  
“There is when you have the proper words to define it and express how it feels like with certainty. It would be hard to talk about something I have never experienced before.” The archer sighed.  
“Ya've never been in love?” Jesse asked pointedly. “With that heart ya hide, I'd be surprised ya never felt it. Although ya said 'before', so that means ya've had a taste of it recently?”

Hanzo went red, probably redder than a boiled lobster if he were to judge from the heat of his cheeks. He swiftly snatched the flask back from Jesse, taking a long sip while the cowboy guffawed under his hand.  
“Why must you pester me with this nonsense?” Hanzo grumbled after holding back a cough. The whisky did not taste any better and he had a feeling it would not improve over the night.  
Jesse raised his hands in a sign of peace. “I'm jus' curious. An' probably a li'l drunk.  
\- Well I am too sober to answer your question and there is not enough whisky in all the Western towns of this land to get that piece of intel out of me.  
\- Ya're aware that dodgin' a question is an answer in itself, right?”  
Hanzo sighed heavily, then he stole another sip of alcohol. “Ham.” He groaned under his breath.  
“Shy guy.” Jesse retorted, so softly that the words sounded less like an insult and more like another pet name.  
Hanzo grunted and made a rude gesture, before he had to cough in his hand as the forty-rod whisky attacked his throat.

Jesse cackled and gave the archer's back a few pats. Then he stretched his arms again with a shameless moan. “Tell ya what, I love bein' out there, in the wild. Nobody else's here, well except for ya right now an' I do appreciate yer bein' with me, it's beautiful an' quiet... As much as I enjoy a roof over my head, there's nothin' like sleepin' under the stars.  
\- Sounds a bit lonely Jesse Justice McCree.” Hanzo hummed. He took one last hardy sip from the canteen and handed it back to Jesse, who took a swing of the foul booze without grimacing. “Good thing you appreciate my company, you hermit.”

Jesse grinned, then he let his head slump back against the grass. He lit his cigar and dreamily gazed at the sky as he smoked.  
“I wonder,” he eventually muttered between two puffs, “since there's a constellation called 'dragon' up 'ere, is that where ya lived before ya plummeted down 'ere?”  
Hanzo also looked back up, pondering on the interrogation. That was actually an interesting idea to make a connection between the stars and the realm he was pretendedly coming from.  
“Yes. That is where I was.  
\- D'ya wanna go back there someday?”  
Hanzo did not need to think on that question, he already had an answer ready on his tongue. “No. I will have to eventually, but I do not want to. At least not without you.” He replied truthfully.

Jesse smiled warmly. “I'm touched ya'd want me to stick around sweetheart. Maybe I'll find a way to join ya in the sky.” He whispered. “I'm thinkin', is yer brother still up 'ere?  
\- Yes.  
\- So half yer heart resides up 'ere. Maybe it's one o' the stars in the constellation.  
\- You are too generous. I think my heart would not be unlike one of these shrunken, dead asteroids that dive in the atmosphere and burn down to nothing.  
\- Well I think ya're wrong.” Jesse rebutted “Ya've got a good heart, ya jus' don't wanna admit it 'cause ya think it'd make ya less cool an' edgy. Reaper an' Miner are jus' like that, drives me up the wall.  
\- Good thing there are no walls here then.” Hanzo sneered.

Jesse's displeased groan was entirely worth the bad pun.

–

The two men continued drinking together, exchanging jokes more or less dubious. Hanzo found himself feeling more and more dazed after each sip of the whisky. He had been certain that he could not possibly get drunk in a dream, now he was not so sure.  
Was he imagining this based on the rare times he had got himself properly plastered? Was that his unconscious trying to remind him why one should always drink reasonably?  
In any case, laughing himself silly after an avalanche of terrible cowboy and archer jokes had to be a sign of intoxication in itself.

They had been gazing at the sky without a word for a few minutes when Hanzo had felled compelled to sing. He did not know what exactly had triggered that need, silent moments with Jesse had become comfortable over time.  
But he had spent a whole afternoon listening to songs, he needed to make something of it somehow.

“Sunrise morning...” He hummed hesitantly, before he turned to Jesse with a frown. “Sunrise, right? Or was it something else? What are the lyrics of that song again?”  
Jesse looked at Hanzo as if he had been asked about the color of his underwear. “What, ya’re singin’ now?  
\- Yes I am, because I am that drunk it seems.” Hanzo smirked boldly. “Now remind me of the lyrics or I might as well stop before I butcher the whole song.  
\- Ah-uhm-Fly Away right? It goes ‘some bright mornin'-  
\- Must I do the same accent? Please tell me I don't have to.  
\- Ya gotta do the accent pardner, ‘s basically a part o’ the song.” Jesse replied with a straight face.

While Hanzo was inebriated enough to sing, he was not fooled. “I call bullshit.” He retorted, trying to shove the cowboy aside.  
“If ya wanna do the song justice, ya gotta do it.” Jesse smirked, standing his ground and shoving back.  
Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Well Justice is not my middle name so _I_ can do whatever I want.” He riposted, sitting just a meter away from the cowboy and crossing his arms over his chest like an affronted child. 

Still he went back to singing, although he overlooked imitating Jesse's accent. He had a hard time doing it justice through writing, he knew he would do a worse job imitating it. “Some bright morning when this life is over, I'll fly away.” He started lowly, slightly off-key.  
“To a home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away, fly away.” Jesse replied, carrying the tune despite the amount of alcohol he had ingested.

They went through most of the song without a hitch, although they were a little desynchronized at times; Hanzo did not remember the lyrics all that well and Jesse remained just as inebriated as he was. But any mistake was followed by both men's hilarity, until they got back on track and pursued the song.

It was not until the last verse that Hanzo's inner turmoil caught up to him. And this time it struck hard without any sort of mercy.  
The realization that his time with Jesse would not last, that nothing really did in the end and that he might languish after a man that had never existed until his final day, the possibility Genji might never wake up, the constant worry, the depression that wore him thin, the never-ending sensation of hanging by his fingernails…  
All of it combined, hitting him hard at the moment he was the most vulnerable. And drunkenness somehow reached in a dream could not protect him from it.

“Just a few more weary days and then I'll-”  
The archer had to stop, his chest feeling too tight to breathe. He tried to continue before the grief could take root, but his voice would no longer come out. Instead he let out a sob, which he hastily smothered by pressing his hand over his mouth.  
His eyes abruptly stung and panic joined the derailing train. He was not going to weep here, not in front of Jesse of all people.

His abrupt pause only went unnoticed for a second; when Jesse caught on that his partner was no longer singing, he stopped and scuttled next to Hanzo, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, what's wrong Han'?” He whispered, his voice growing alarmed.  
Hanzo blinked at him in confusion, until he realized with horror that his vision was blurry with tears. His eyes were filled with them, they were already overflowing and rolling down his cheeks.

Before he could shamefully turn his face away, the cowboy wrapped an arm around his back. “Honey it's a'right. Jus' get it off yer chest.” He whispered softly, gently squeezing his shoulders.  
“No.” Hanzo protested, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the flow. Not here, not now, not with someone he held in such high esteem by his side. “It is _nothing_.  
\- Yeah right. Sorry but I'm callin' bullshit on that too.  
\- Look away, leave me be. I-I assure you it is nothing.” Hanzo’s pathetic defense was crumbling by itself before he could even attempt to build it. He clenched the fabric of his pants, so hard his knuckles grew white.

Then Jesse pulled him into an embrace and cupped his head, brushing over his hair. “Don't be a fool honey. Can't be nothin' if it puts ya in that poor state.” The cowboy whispered, slightly rocking Hanzo. “Stop holdin' back. I've seen men cry an' don't get me started 'bout myself. Yer drunk cryin' can't be grosser than mine.”

Hanzo tried to laugh, but the sound muted into a sob halfway through. The pain that had manifested itself earlier was back sharper than ever, stabbing his chest through and through relentlessly. He violently tried to restrain himself, clenching his teeth and pressing his knuckles against his mouth. His body trembled with the vain effort and the agony that would not step down.

Jesse kept trying to console him with comforting touches and soft humming. His flesh hand first combed his hair, then it moved down to caress the archer's neck.  
When Hanzo failed to retain another whimper, Jesse only reaffirmed his embrace, pressing a light kiss on the archer's temple before he rested his cheek against his hair.  
While the cowboy's actions were unfortunately not working the way he intended, they were genuinely sweet and reminded Hanzo that he was not going through this alone for once.

So he leaned in the comforting embrace and finally allowed his grief to take over, while Jesse resumed his humming. He did not stop, even when pained sobbing escaped his crying partner.  
At the peak of his meltdown, Hanzo gripped the serape and pressed his face into its fabric to muffle his cries. It was like a dam had broken, releasing a flow of unshed tears. And he had no choice but to endure it until it finally ran dry.  
He held onto Jesse tightly, like a castaway to a rock in the middle of a stormy sea. And Jesse hugged him back with a similar intensity.

They stayed like this for a long time. Every cry Hanzo could not contain hurt him furthermore, beckoning more tears and pain.  
Thankfully the pent up grief was not infinite; the tears eventually ran dry and the sobs tuned down to faint whimpers.

It was only when Hanzo made no sound for a few solid minutes that Jesse dared speak. He had stopped humming at some point, but his hold on his grieving friend had not once weakened.  
“Ya don't let yerself have a good cry often, do ya?” Jesse murmured, tracing a circle on Hanzo's nape. With the unpleasant heat Hanzo's struggle had brought up within him, the cowboy's dry hand felt agreeably cool; it made a soothing shiver run up his spine.  
“I don't. It is a weakness, not to mention a disgusting display.” Hanzo replied, keeping his head down as he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Even though Jesse had witnessed his breakdown, he did not want him to see the mess he had become.  
“I would have preferred not to let myself go in your presence.” He admitted painfully.

“None o' that hon'.” Jesse admonished with a gentle tap on the archer's back. “Ain't a weakness or whatever negative thing ya think. It's an overload of emotions manifestin' itself, an' it's the most human shit ever.” He slightly pulled away to tilt Hanzo's chin up, his hazel eyes somewhat shining. “What ya really should do is cry more often, whenever ya need it. 'S not good to keep all that pain canned, makes the pressure build up. Then at the slightest weakness everythin' knives its way out, hurtin' ya far worse.”

Hanzo wanted to avoid the cowboy's scrutinizing eyes, but he was void of any will.  
Instead he cupped Jesse's hand and leaned in his touch tiredly. “You are much wiser than you let on, you know? I bet no one has ever told you that.” He muttered to himself. But as he made no attempt to lower his voice, Jesse heard it all.  
“Ya can bet yer sweet ass no one does.” The cowboy chuckled, his thumb brushing the archer's jaw. “Yer thinkin' so makes my li'l heart swoon.  
\- Little? Your heart is anything but little.” Hanzo groaned. “It is big and made of gold. It's a sun. No,” he abruptly raised his head, poking Jesse's chest, “ _you_ are the sun and your heart is your core. You are radiant, you always make everything seem brighter.”

The cowboy tilted his head, looking suddenly bashful. “Ya gotta be real drunk to be linin' up compliments like that.” He blurted coyly.  
“Then I should make it a habit because your self-esteem sucks.  
\- Ah! Look who's talkin'! That's the kettle callin' the teapot black.  
\- Careful or the teapot might tip over the table by itself and meet a tragic end on the floor.” Hanzo smirked, giving Jesse a weak shove. But he fell forward instead and strong arms surrounded him once more.

“Honey we're already on the ground, can't fall any lower than that.” The cowboy sighed with a soft smile, releasing the archer once he was sure he could sit up on his own.  
Hanzo frowned. “We can't? Are you certain?  
\- I reckon so.  
\- Well technically we could, if we dug a hole and jumped down-  
\- Maybe ya should go sleep before ya become a mole to prove nothin', ya silly lizard.” Jesse chuckled. He reached out and picked up his cigar from one of the stones surrounding the camp; he had probably rested it there to avoid starting a fire in Hanzo's hair as he consoled him.  
“Unless ya wanna talk about what made ya so sad. I'm all ears for ya, an' it's possible that airin' it out will help ya feel better.”

On a normal day, Hanzo would have brought his walls up right now and asked Jesse to forget about this whole thing. Right now, with the tiredness and the drunkenness still present, his judgement was severely impaired.  
“Every day I feel like I am constantly holding by a thread. Sometimes it is like I am falling and I cannot do anything but wait to hit the bottom.” He sighed, staring into the distance.  
“When I am with you, I can let it go, forget for a few hours and focus instead on our adventures. It is such a relief, I feel like I can make it after all. But today,” he chuckles weakly, ducking his head in shame, “on this day I cannot think of anything else, and it hurts at its fullest. I though I might be able to escape it with what we have, but I was gravely mistaken.”

Jesse stayed quiet at first, the smoke of his cigar carried away by the gentle breeze. Then he put it out against the sole of his shoe and looked back at Hanzo. “Ya ain't fallin' to yer death sweetheart.” He eventually spoke, carefully choosing his words. “Ya're jus' havin' a hard time stayin' on yer feet.  
\- What difference does it make?  
\- Fallin' means ya can't do nothin' about it unless ya grab somethin' on the way an' stop yer fall, or someone catches ya. If ya don't, ya hit the bottom an' that's death. Stayin' on yer feet means ya gotta do efforts to keep on standin', or you'll collapse. Ya might hit the ground from then, but ya can get back up afterward. D'ya understand what I mean?”

Hanzo shivered. He actually knew what Jesse was trying to explain; he had suffered many crisis and breakdowns each year between the accident and this one, yet always pushed himself to go on. More for his brother's sake than his own, but it still meant finding the effort to gather his pieces and continue living.  
Falling would be giving up utterly and end it all, unless he changed his mind or someone managed to stop him.

“So I am still standing.” Hanzo sighed, bringing his knees up against his chest. “But so much is shoving me down that I barely have the strength to get back up. I fear that one day I will collapse and never get up, or definitely fall. How is anyone suppose to resist this on the long run?”  
He had expected Jesse to be at loss, but he was mistaking.  
“When ya can't do it alone, then ya gotta turn to yer family an' friends. They'll hold onto ya, keep ya anchored-  
\- But I am underserving of their help.” Hanzo snapped. “They have their own lives, their own problems, they don't need me hauling them down because I can't stay on my feet! I am responsible of my brother's state and many other things, my afflictions are my responsibility. I am unworthy of any help whatsoever.”

Hands grabbed his shoulders and Jesse was suddenly very close, so close Hanzo could feel his nicotine-scented breath tickle his nose.  
“Stop thinkin' like this pardner, it's bullshit. The kindness of others ain't somethin' to earn when they give it to ya willingly; either ya reject it an' keep on sufferin', or ya accept it an' use it to make yerself stronger. The first one's real dumb in my opinion, though I know it ain't easy 'cause it requires admittin' ya need the help.  
\- But I can't. I can't accept it.” Hanzo stressed, stuck in his resentment.

Jesse released his shoulders, smoothing the wrinkles on Hanzo's Obi before he took his hands. “Ya gotta let 'em. Don't fight helpin' hands, let 'em carry ya till ya're well enough to stand on yer own. An' if ya still worry 'bout payin' them back, then swear to be there for them if they hit a low point. Heck jus' livin' on an' comin' back stronger is probably the best reward I could think of.”  
He released Hanzo's hands and cupped his face, his thumbs discreetly tracing the line of his jaw before he pulled back. “Look at yerself. Ya've helped me a great deal without ever askin' for anythin' in return. Even though I was a rude, flirty pain in yer ass more than once. D'ya really think the people who like ya, love ya, wouldn't do the same for yer sake?  
\- No… But I could have helped you because I would be otherwise lost without you.” Hanzo replied, lost in the face of reason and the cowboy's gentle touch.

Jesse did not fall for it. “Nah, ya're capable. Ya would've found a compass somehow. An' a compass wouldn't blabber yer ears off, or embarrass ya to no end.  
\- A compass would not make me laugh or attempt to teach me nonsense about stars.” Hanzo chuckled wetly. He gazed at Jesse through fresh tears and his faint smile quivered. “A compass would not comfort me when I am at my lowest.  
\- Well then I'll have to accept the fact that I'm better than a compass.” Jesse smiled, releasing the archer's face. “An' ya the fact that people don't always do good things for filthy lucre. Sometimes they'll help ya 'cause all they want is for ya to be happy again.”

Hanzo lowered his head, trying to wipe his eyes on the already wet back of his hand. Then a white bandana entered his view.  
“Ya can blow yer nose in it too if ya want,” Jesse offered, “but I'll clean it myself. Ya were pretty sweet to wash it for me back then.  
\- That would be a gross thing to do and I have already drenched your serape with my tears. But I appreciate the gesture.” Hanzo sniffed with a weak smile, gently shoving Jesse's hand away. Then he stifled a deep yawn, completely spent.

Jesse smiled back and tied the bandana back around his neck. “It's late, we drank plenty an' that crisis sure drained the life outta ya. 'S probably best we went back to sleep.” He said as he grabbed the blankets.  
Before Hanzo could react, he was wrapped in one of them and leaned down, with Jesse tucked by his side. The cowboy had thrown the second blanket over the two of them, then rested his flesh arm over Hanzo's chest.  
“Ya feel bad again, ya pinch me awake. Even if it's because ya need to throw up. An' that is not negotiable mister.” He added as Hanzo opened his mouth. “I ain't lettin' ya go through that again on yer own, an' nothin' ya can say will get ya rid o' me… If you'll have me o' course.”  
Hammered by the exhaustion and the effects of the forty-rod whisky, Hanzo simply nodded.

Jesse gazed longly at him, then he reached out to brush his hair. “G'night Han'.” He said before he started muttering a song. The soft melody was unfamiliar and the lyrics were in a language Hanzo did not recognize. A Native chant perhaps? A lullaby most likely, considering the softness of the slow tune.  
Whatever it meant, Jesse's rich voice combined with the sounds of nature, the cozy blankets and the man's body heat put Hanzo to sleep faster than any medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING*** Keep tissues, comfort blankets/pillows/puppies/etc. nearby just in case. I made too many readers cry with the previous chapter and I'm not taking any chances ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆;ʔ  
>  Also there is gonna be a bit of drinking and depressive thoughts. If anyone thinks I should add 'drinking' in the tags, lemme know!


	35. Recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some flashbacks?  
>  ***Warnings*:** Check the end notes for trigger warnings (slight spoilers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody? (\ʕ◕ᴥ◕❀ʔ/)  
> It's been a while hasn't it? Three months? ʕ⚆ ᴥ ⚆;ʔ Gosh does time run fast. I apologize for the wait, I was in a great need of vacation and struggling with this peculiar chapter.
> 
> First disclaimer, thank y'all for your support, your kudos, your comments, everything really! You've kept me motivated and that is how I got to publishing this chapter even though I'm not 100% happy about it ╰ʕ⸝⸝⸝´ᴥ`⸝⸝⸝ʔ╯
> 
> Second disclaimer, I write in this fic about hospitals, car accidents, police, justice system, basically irl stuff without necessarily knowing everything about them, thus I might get certain things wrong purposely or accidentally! Some of which is also due to the fact I do not want this fic to be localized (somewhere on the North of the Equator since it's cold in December lol) and thus spare myself from describing cities I've never visited or specific legislation I don't really have the energy to look into.  
> Follow-up to second disclaimer, I will not voice my opinion on the things I approach in this fic, and this fic does not portray how I think on things! While I do encourage public debate, I do not wish to start one in the comment sections since they tend to get out of hand ʕ ·ᴥ·;ʔ
> 
> And third disclaimer… [Here are the doodles I made for the update!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/post/177419695456/lucid-dream-a-new-chapter-is-up-yall-ready-for)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter like all the others ˚₊*ʕˊॢo̶̶̷̤ᴥo̶̶̷̤ˋॢʔ*₊˚⁎

_“Anija, when will we arrive?”_   
_Genji had been oscillating between slumber and awareness for the past hour. He reeked of strong alcohol, as if an entire bottle had been spilled on his lap. Or someone had showered the young man with booze; the parties he had been attending for the past couple years were so wild that this kind of event was not unlikely._   
_“In approximately ten minutes.” Hanzo replied dryly, the skin stretched over his knuckles turning white as his grip on the wheel tightened. There was not a single muscle in his body that was not under tension, and his stomach was so turned up that it was a gamble to guess whichever one of them would be the first to vomit. The heady smell coming from his brother, combined to body sweat, was gag-inducing. Even though Hanzo had pushed the air conditioning to the max and did his best to keep from breathing through his nose, he still caught a whiff of it every now and then._   
_Hopefully there would be a pharmacy at the airport; some medication would be handy to prevent humiliating accidents during their flight._   
_That was if they were not captured or dead by that time._

_Hanzo let out a shaky sigh, trying to uncoil his wound-up nerves and stop brooding over dark thoughts. But it was impossible to relax, for he had done the unthinkable; abandoning his duties and leaving his home in the middle of the night like a thief, in the company of the embarrassment of the family._   
_They were going to get caught. Even though Hanzo had acted with tremendous precautions, imagined every potential mishap and anticipated the Shimada-gumi's moves, he still expected something, anything, to go terribly wrong. He kept wavering between complete confidence and no faith whatsoever in his own plan, restlessly shifting from cold determination to disarming doubt. And thinking of the outcome of a failure on his part only made it worse; getting caught signified Genji's certain death and an ordeal of demise for Hanzo to endure before he could regain the trust of the Clan, if that was even possible._   
_He could be downgraded and forced to remain a low pawn as long as the Elders willed it, pay his betrayal in blood, or be executed just as well. Being Sojiro's first and only son would not assure him much protection against the repercussions of his affront._

_Genji's slurred mumbling pulled Hanzo out of the vicious spiral. “That's what you said ten minutes ago. Change the record will you?” He complained, poking at the beanie covering his head._   
_He had not wholly grasped the gravity of their situation yet. Hanzo had tried to explain the deal as quickly as he could while he gathered his drunken mess of a brother off the floor, but it seemed that most of it had been blocked by the alcohol haze fogging his brain._   
_Thankfully Hanzo had taken in account the possibility that Genji may get drunk, high or both in the evening, or else this would have been a deadly setback to their evasion._

_“That is what I will keep saying every time you ask. So you might as well be quiet.” Hanzo retorted. “The airport is not that far anymore. I just had to take a few turns to avoid traffic jam. Besides the main axes may already be under high surveillance.” Their disappearance may not have been noticed yet, but it was less risky to assume it was the case. The Shimada had enough influence to obtain security footage from the roads and send the police after them, on top of their own lackeys._   
_“Airport?” Genji repeated, sluggish and confused._   
_“Yes, airport. I told you, we are leaving Japan._   
_\- What did you do with your hair? Why's it so short?_   
_\- I cut it off.” Chopped off rather, with the first blade he could find in the haste of his departure. It looked awful and the act had felt like an admittance of the dishonor he was causing upon himself and his entire family. But most importantly of all, it made him less recognizable._   
_“Don't you dare remove that hat, it's the only thing I had to hide this eldritch color you dyed your hair with.” He snapped as he caught his little brother pulling off the beanie. “Without it you're a walking billboard. I'll already have to drag your ass around, don't make this more difficult for us.”_

_Genji sighed heavily, but he obeyed. He released the fabric and looked out the window. “I still don't understand why we have to leave.” He spat after a few minutes of quiet contemplation, his brows furrowed._   
_“I thought I had been pretty clear about it. Did someone break a bottle on your head?_   
_\- No I mean, I got the part about you being ordered to kill me cause I don't fit the mould.” Genji flamed, suddenly animated. “What I don't understand is that you're the head of the clan now. You're the oyabun! Why didn't you tell them to go fuck themselves and let you run stuff your way?_   
_\- I tried, with different terms and more diplomacy. But the little convincing I managed to do was immediately overthrown by your uncontrollable behavior, your unsupportable disrespect and your unending antics! They simply stopped listening to me and decided the best way to heal our honor was to-”_   
_Hanzo paused to suppress a gag and decided it was best not to finish that sentence. “You have to understand, these people are more powerful than you think they are. I may detain leadership over the clan, but their voices are important. If I had explicitly refused to comply to their ultimate request, that would have undermined my position as the oyabun. My young age was already sapping their confidence in my capability to take over, I suspect they would have accused me to let my feelings get in the way. They never dared with our father, but they have no qualms sparing me. Had I insisted in your defense, they threatened to cast a vote for my destitution and have you executed._   
_\- Why is protecting your family a weakness? This is bullshit.” Genji roared, slamming his fist against his thigh. “This is not normal Anija, this is-this is fucked up.”_

_Hanzo did not know what to say. He dared not confess that it actually made sense from his point of view._   
_The moment Genji had upset the Elders one time too many, he had stopped being a Shimada in their eyes. If his little brother had been older and able to take care of himself, Hanzo would have sent him out of the country to live on his own and stayed home to appease the fire. And he was not certain that would have worked, considering the trust the Elders had in Genji's ability to keep the family's illegal dealings secrets. While his little brother had kept out of their business, he knew just enough to be a threat._

_Instead Hanzo was transgressing his duties, throwing away everything he had been groomed from birth to inherit and separating himself from his family and home. All for Genji's sake. Years of his life, all wasted for the wayward son's. The biggest sacrifice he had ever made in his eyes, for a brother that had angered him more than once with his naive, idle and selfish ways._   
_A brother he still loved unconditionally, in spite of the many messes Genji had caused and the many screaming matches that had followed._   
_It was heart-wrecking, terrifying even._

_“Just rest okay? I will take care of everything.” Hanzo forced out, reaching out to give Genji's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I cannot promise we will be fine, but you have my word that I will do everything in my power to get you out of here.”_   
_When his little brother let his head slump until his cheek rested against the back of Hanzo's hand, the certainty and brotherly love that had guided him in the first place came back stronger. They chased the doubts clouding his mind and appeased the tension lightening his body._   
_This was yet the biggest sacrifice of his life, but it was also the rightest gesture he had ever accomplished. Whatever awaited them, he was not fully ready to face. But he would anyway, with Genji._

~

“Gen'.” Hanzo muttered as he opened his eyes to the white ceiling bathed in sunrise light.  
He felt uncomfortable, cold, itchy where the seams of his clothes dug in his skin, and close to being emotionally numb in the aftermath of his two crisis. Tears had crystallized around his eyes, prickling his lids as he blinked, and his nose was utterly clogged.

However, underneath the physical and mental discomfort was a lingering warmth, nested in his heart and radiating with every beat.  
Curtesy of Jesse.

Clinging to that lone feeling and ignoring everything else, Hanzo sat up and gathered his thoughts. Today was Monday, the first of January. That left him the entire week to get himself back on his feet, clean up his flat, return to his poems and-  
And steel himself to face one more year of struggle.

On New Year's day Hanzo would normally allow himself to be sluggish and unproductive. Today however, he wished for no such thing.  
First of all he wanted to write down everything that had happened last night. Despite the shame he felt for recklessly indulging in old habits and losing his composure in a most undistinguished manner, he needed to immortalize his moments with Jesse. From his childish remodeling of the celestial map to his strong, comforting words; it was imperative that he saved all of it.  
Secondly he felt like reviewing _the case_ now that he had some recollections. With any luck, revisiting the files would trigger the recovery of more lost memories.  
Thirdly he wished to go outside and visit Genji at the hospital. After seeing him unharmed and alive in his sleep, he irremediably ached to be by his side.

Leaving the futon and standing left Hanzo slightly light-headed, but the warmth in his chest combined to the prospect of a hot shower kept him from slumping back on the cover.  
Seeing his face in the bathroom mirror made him cringe. While he did not look as distraught as yesterday, he clearly was not at the top of his shape. His hair was a mess, yellow crust still garnished the contour of his eyes despite his attempts to rub it off, his eyelids were red and puffy, and his skin was sickly pale. Shaving was also becoming extremely urgent with the critical mess that was starting to take up his jaw, but Hanzo lacked the motivation to do it today.  
Not to give under procrastination perpetually, he set his mind on tending to his beard tomorrow morning. Hopefully tonight would be not be so rough that he would fail to do that task the next day.

Hanzo stripped of his clothes and hung them up on coat hangers by the door, so that the steam would take care of the wrinkles. Then he untangled his hair and washed them with cold water in the sink, before he went in the shower and scrubbed his skin clean.  
It was only when he had rinsed off the lather than he turned the hot water on a whole minute.  
As short as it was, it completely revived him; the heat soothed his skin where the sewing of the clothes had left marks, and lessened his sickness to the point he found food appealing.

Once Hanzo was dry and dressed, he briefly considered calling Jack and Gabriel to apologize for his pathetic call. But knowing the couple, they were most likely recovering from the festivities if not still sleeping. That would have to wait.  
First thing first, he needed food. Then he could add his dream to his Two fools on a Journey.

A bowl of rice with a bit of soya sauce and a tea later, the writer was typing as fast as he could to include the details he feared to forget in his document.  
Writing down last night's antics, including the revisited constellations by Jesse McCree, brought a soft smile on his face, and the warmth he had woken up with anchored itself deeper in his chest. Although Hanzo plentifully and repeatedly cursed himself for drinking that damn paint thinner and crying so grossly before a man he respected and loved, he was content.

Toward the end of his entry however, his mind became clouded with interrogation.  
“I would never dare ask Jesse how he feels about me. His ministrations and care are signs of fondness, obviously enough, but I lack experience and honestly do not know if I am interpreting them correctly. Is he just being his usual flirtatious self? Or is he actually as enamored as I am?  
Genji would know. Although serious commitment was never his forte, he has dealt with sexual and sentimental attraction countless times. No matter how reluctant I would be to ask for his advice or even approach the matter with him, his help would be much appreciated.  
My unreal traveling companion means this much to me despite my attempts to reconnect with reality, and I no longer have the strength to deny myself the little happiness I can have.  
I want…”

Jesse. The man was a treasure, a precious gift wrapped in the tackiest crepe paper. Hanzo was well aware that he would have been worse for the wear without the cowboy holding him through the night.  
It made the writer wonder once more how his mind had conjured a being sentient to the point he felt like he was meeting with an actual person every night. It could be Hanzo's reason in disguise circumventing his self-hatred and reaching out to him, but he found it hard to believe that any part of his brain would take the shape of a gorgeous cowboy just to shake him up.

Even after saving and closing the document, Hanzo still ached to write about Jesse. Words and sentences he had already written came to him in bouquets, adorned with fresher ones he soon realized he could tweak into verses. He prepared himself another tea and threw whatever came at him onto the paper. Very much the same process he would follow during a panic attack, except it was nowhere as dreadful.  
When he was finished, he checked what he had written from the start and was thrown in a mixture of awe and embarrassment as he read on:

“My dear memories of a beautiful field in spring,  
These sweet memories all night I have been dreaming.

Standing beside me in the middle of the green,  
A cowboy smelling of wet dog and nicotine.  
He is quite disheveled much to my chagrin,  
But he is blessed with a most dazzling grin.

His eyes full of stars make the sky seem so dim,  
Even the moon shining above its cloudy rim,  
Or the sun over a bed of burning gems,  
Cannot surpass the raw beauty I see in them.

In this field all I can see is him.  
I fear I may never let him go.  
But if we were to part,  
And the thought burns my heart,  
Would he miss me the way I'd miss him?  
Perhaps I am foolish to hope so.

His arms have brought me such comfort in the midst of grief,  
Wrapped all around me while I was shaking like a leaf.  
When my grief became too strong he held me,  
When I could only cry he comforted me.

I love him in spite of the pain and sorrow  
Clouding my mind and tormenting my heart.  
As our night falls I must sadly depart,  
But I will see him again on the morrow.

Sweet memories, beacons in a world so unkind.  
These dear memories shall never fade from my mind.”

By the time Hanzo was done reading, he was overwhelmed. That was a hand-written, black on white, sincere love declaration. And to think he had not dared giving Jesse a proper answer last night!  
He had just got over the daring draft and was starting to polish the beginning when he noticed the time. It was late enough now, so he figured that he should call his editors now. Get it out of the way while he was motivated to do it, so it would not torment him anymore.

His phone was right where he had left it, halfway over the edge of the bedside table. Then it abruptly vibrated and Hanzo just had the time to lash forward and catch the device by the fingertips before it clattered on the floor. It would not have been a long drop, but that was the last thing his old cellphone needed.  
Dismissing the small fright while swearing to be more careful from now on, Hanzo unlocked the device and checked the screen; there was a surprisingly high amount of unread texts, along with two missed calls from the Morrison-Reyes's landline and an unknown number.  
It was not that weird actually, since it was a tradition on New Year to spam your contacts.

Hanzo sat on his bed and started with the messages, grateful that his colleagues had gone for texts, it was much easier for him to reply to after yesterday's disastrous call . The latest one, a simple 'happy new year', was just seconds old and came from the unknown caller.  
Who was awake at this hour on January the first? Unless they had not fallen asleep yet, which meant they had possibly misdialed and accidentally sent Hanzo a message meant for someone else.  
Or perhaps this unknown number was a contact he had deleted a while ago. The sequence of digits did not ring a bell, but Hanzo could not pretend to have the best memory when he could not fully recall one of the most distressing events in his life.

Outside of that text and one of the missed calls, the rest was from his friends and colleagues. Jack and Gabriel had called him an hour after he had reached out to them, most likely to check up on him. The heartfelt message they had left on the voicemail nearly made Hanzo tear up.  
He lied down on the futon, scrolling through the texts one more time. Everybody had gone through the trouble of wishing him and Genji the best and each kind message stirred the warmth in his chest. They clearly still cared.  
So Hanzo worked his way through replying to all of them, even the unknown sender not to seem rude.

–

Once Hanzo had built up enough courage, he searched through the boxes he kept in his flat. It was not just any box like the ones he used to store Genji's possessions, it was a smaller one the size of a shoebox, white and red with a police department logo on it. It should have been easy to spot among the brown cardboard boxes, but Hanzo had done his best to keep it out of his sight.  
Who would want to have a box of evidence regarding their car accident in plain sight? But more importantly, who would want to have such a thing in their own home?  
Hanzo had known from the start that it would be a bad idea to review his own case after that it had been closed. Unfortunately doubt and guilt were maddening sirens and he had caved under their insisting calls, gone out of his way to acquire a copy and now kept it in his living room like a skeleton in a closet.

Of course he had the means to get rid of it; all he had to do was to bring it to Overwatch Editions and use the shredder to destroy every sheet of paper it contained. There was no evidence in there that pointed to foul play anyway.  
But he kept holding onto it.

It took the removal of several boxes to find it, stashed against the wall underneath a pile of books. As annoying as all the moving had been, it had given Hanzo an opportunity to work out and a literal run for his money since he had uncovered a few lost coins in his search.  
Hanzo rested the box on the table and sat down, rubbing his eyebrows to tame the headache flourishing behind his eyes. He had not looked at this in a couple years, after convincing himself that reading the dossier over and over was pointless and he would never remember what had occurred on the night of the accident.  
Clearly he had been wrong since he recently recalled a few pieces. But they were not significant enough to truly help. The memory lapses he had suffered that night were still unfilled for the most part.  
The following days and weeks were however committed to his memory.

~

  
_Upon hearing the news that there were new elements regarding his case, Hanzo had taken the trouble of physically showing up at the police station and demanded to meet the people in charge of the investigation._  
 _While he had not expected a warm welcome, he had not anticipated the barely veiled hostility of the officers. Lots of eyes drifted too long on him and whispers were exchanged on his path. At first he ignored them, but his temper was short and he soon started to stare back ostensively._  
 _He did stand out involuntarily, for his suit and the cold agitation he was pained to contain made him look more like the crime boss he had once been than the respectable writer he had become._

_When a man in handcuffs looked insistingly at the dragon peeking from under his sleeve, Hanzo self-consciously shoved his hands in his pockets and waited in a corner as far as he could from potential danger. He regretted coming here, he was too exposed.  
But the man never made an attempt to strike a conversation, taken away by a couple cops, and no one approached Hanzo._

_Several minutes later the officers Hanzo had asked to see arrived, their faces stern as they recognized their requestor. “Mister Shimada. What brings you here?” The oldest officer spoke first, his lips pulled in a thin line._   
_“The woman who gave me the cellphone at the scene. I heard you have found her.” Hanzo attacked, too tensed to bother with diplomacy. “I would like to know if she brought any light on what happened.”_   
_The officer frowned and squinted at the writer. “Where did you get that information?”_   
_Hanzo put up his best pokerface. His source was not exactly illegal, but it would not play in his favor to say he had pulled some strings to get this intel. “I saw it on the news, your department has a leaking problem it seems. Who is this woman?_   
_\- Hold your horses. We are not going to disclose details of the investigation to you._   
_\- I am one of the victims._   
_\- You are also a suspect._   
_\- I am a former witness under protection, I testified against a once powerful organization. If a crime syndicate is after me, I have the right to be informed.” Hanzo retorted, dropping his calm tone for a scathing one. He had not come here to vociferate, but his nerves were raw._

_“Don't kid yourself! The other groups no longer care about you.” The senior officer scoffed without bothering to hide his contempt. “Hell some triads think you did them a favor by bringing your own empire down._   
_\- It was barely mine to begin with, but let us not change the subject. The woman?_   
_\- Not an assassin. We got a good set of prints from the phone and it turned out she's just a local hooker.”_   
_That made sense as to why she had been outside alone in high-heels and fur coat, but Hanzo could hardly believe it. “Are you certain that there was no third party implicated?_   
_\- There were no assassins involved, alright? No traces of sabotage on your car or the road. The one person who found you was just going on about her 'job' in the area and heard the crash. You might as well be dead to the syndicates, they either don't care about you or they believe that going after you will bring them bad luck. Some are even grateful like I said, since you brought down your family and left them with plenty of ground to flourish on.”_

_The man's diatribe was followed by an awkward silence that even the ambient sounds of the precinct could not disturb. The other cop stood still, most likely unsure what to say._   
_Hanzo stared intensely at the two, his hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. He knew better than butting heads with a police officer, but he was not going to tolerate such berating without retaliating. “Why are you so hostile? Is it because I used to be a Yakuza?” He spoke up._   
_A few heads turned to look at them, but a glare from the older officer made them return to work. “Used to be? Don't try to fool me Shimada.” The officer muttered, taking a step toward Hanzo. He was at least one head taller than him. “You are still a Yakuza, you just got an out-of-jail card for opening your mouth. Doesn't make you innocent.”_   
_But the writer stood his grounds. He was not impressed, not the very least; it was not the first time someone jumped at his throat about his past and it would certainly not be the last. “There is more to that, isn't it? I sense some resentment coming from you, resentment and disgust. I imagine you must have investigated one or several cases connected to the Shimada-gumi in the past.” Hanzo declared nonchalantly, while glaring directly in the man's eyes. “But then I came along and brought the clan down before you had the opportunity to close any one of them. All that hard work for nothing and no recognition from your superiors. Am I wrong?”_

_The officer was now gritting his teeth, a vein beating at his temple. He looked just a push away from lashing out. Hanzo maintained the eye contact, prepared to use force against all reason._   
_But the younger cop who had accompanied the man and still had not said a word moved between them, forcing them to take a step back._   
_“Sir, we'll keep you informed if something comes up.” They told the writer, who was taken aback by the softness of their voice. “Till then, stay out of our precinct. Don't try to come in contact with the prostitute, that would be obstruction and evidence tempering. Do you understand?”_   
_Hanzo took his eyes off the older cop and narrowed them at the younger one. “I did not drive under the influence and all she did was giving me her phone. What is there to verify?_   
_\- We'll see if her version checks out with your testimony and if she can bring in new evidence. In the meantime, stay out of our way and drive safely.”_

~

Years later and now Hanzo understood better why these officers had treated him the way they had. It may have been unprofessional of them, it was nonetheless justifiable. He had never really paid for his crimes, unless one counted saving Genji as repentance and working hard to build a life from scratch as penance.

Back then this exchange had haunted Hanzo to the point of insomnia, just as he was starting to lose nights to sheer anxiety. He had restlessly walked around his apartment, trying to recall anything of value and sipping wine like water.  
If there was one thing Hanzo was grateful about his restricted budget, it was that it had efficiently cut off his alcohol consumption. However, if he were to judge from last night's dream, bad habits did die hard.

There had been so much talk about this accident, Hanzo being notorious for his books, his belonging to a once known Yakuza group public knowledge, and Genji having his own fame in the world of art and fashion. Regardless the writer's profile, the public opinion and the city prosecutor were intransigent with dangerous drivers; indictment for 'careless/inconsiderate driving' had been made against Hanzo, the sentence looming over his head being a fee and a few months in prison, which could turn into years if Genji passed away from his injuries.

However the investigation had brought no evidence to support the accusation; the tire tracks on the road had given an estimation of the speed Hanzo had been driving at, but it had been difficult to narrow it to a more precise value because of the ice on the roads that night. The speed could have been slightly above the limitation or bellow.  
The only witness, the woman that had given Hanzo the phone, had been in the woods on her 'shift'. She had not seen the accident, she had been making her way back to the road when she had heard a car rolling by, breaking and then a row. She had then walked up the road until the turn and down the slope as fast as she could with her heels, found the car burning with Hanzo and Genji a few meters away and explained she had not stayed at the scene to avoid the police. She had sworn that she had seen no one else in the woods that night.

Angela's expertise had brought no conclusive evidence as well. She had been obligated to disclose Hanzo's medical record and testify before the court, to ascertain whether Hanzo had driven under the influence or not. Even though they had not been on best terms back then, the doctor had not once strayed from her professionalism.  
After that she had explained that Hanzo's blood analysis had revealed only dopants legally obtained, she had been forced to admit that the levels were high. When asked to comment, she had emitted the hypothesis of an overdose at the wheel, which could have caused the crash without leaving any distinguishable trace. But that theory had been solely based on the writer's retrograde amnesia, which could have resulted from the head injury he had suffered during the crash just as well. The high dosage of stimulant in his blood may have been a probable cause for the accident, it had been a weak argument with the lack of evidence to support it.

Hanzo's incapability to remember the moment before the accident had given rise to other hypotheses, such as an argument gone wrong. The writer had thought that possibility to be likely considering the state of his relationship with Genji, but had been strongly advised by his lawyer not to say it.  
In the end, nothing proved that Hanzo Shimada had broken the law. He had simply lost control of the vehicle, a tragedy that befell even experimented drivers. The prosecutor had pointed at his irresponsible drug use to shame him, but it had not caught on; the charges had been dropped and the case closed, the media and the public moving on to the next topic.  
Only Hanzo had stayed behind. He had not needed a trial to know he was guilty.

Even the bits he now remembered did nothing to change that. They only shed more light upon what he knew already, he doubted that whatever was still in the shadow would change a thing.

Hanzo let out a deep, long sigh, then he shut the files and shoved them back in the box. After stuffing it back in its hiding spot, he prepared to face the cold.

–

Against Hanzo’s expectations, walking through the hospital turned out to be less of a stealth mission and more a walk in the park; the corridors were almost deserted, with the exception of one or two easily avoidable staff members. Hanzo found neither Lúcio or Angela on his way, but thought none of it. He was not in the mood to face either cheeriness or cold wrath.

'Another year begins,' Hanzo thought instead as he stood before the door of Genji’s room, 'please wake up this time.'  
He finally knocked and entered, only to be greeted by the same heartbreaking sight: his brother lying down still and comatose. Nonetheless he apologized for the disturbance and shut the door, then he sat down at his usual spot by his brother's side.  
After waiting for his frozen fingers to warm up, Hanzo picked up Genji's hand. Someone had recently applied hydrating cream on his knuckles, and he wondered how come he had never noticed that until now. Perhaps it was a balm for the scars.  
“Akemashite omedetou Otōto,” Hanzo hummed as he brushed the familiar yet distressing scars, “I am sorry you were alone yesterday night. I should have made an effort and come over instead of staying holed up. That would have been the very least I could do after I failed to be with our mutual friends.”  
He paused, swallowing thickly. In all fairness he would have not been able to visit Genji either, that would have only exacerbated his agony. “I wish I had been strong enough for once, but I was not.” He added miserably.

Then he reached out to brush away the tiny locks that had fallen over Genji's forehead and took a long look at his brother's hairline; the irremediably white strands standing out among the inky black and the rare remains of green dye gave his heart a fresh stab.  
“You are so going to kill me when you'll see your face in a mirror.” He stated darkly as he withdrew his hand from Genji's hair. “You were always very mindful of your looks, I doubt even a coma could change that about you.”  
If his brother ever woke up, Hanzo had no doubt he would be distressed by his physical appearance. The coma had melted away most of his muscles, despite the best efforts of the hospital staff to keep his body in shape. At least their daily care prevented the aggravations caused by prolonged absence of movement.  
If Genji ever woke up, Hanzo could only imagine how much reeducation and physical therapy his brother would have to go through before he could be functional again. Assuming Genji's mental had not suffered as badly as he feared.

To keep the rising anxiety at bay, Hanzo turned his thoughts to Jesse. He had started telling his brother about the cowboy, it would only be fair to give him more details. Should Genji be really listening, Hanzo had already left him waiting too long.  
“The man I have been seeing,” He started awkwardly as he struggled for words, “he is truly more wonderful than I can express. He is wise and supportive, he even comforted me last night. It has been a very long time since I was held in such a way. The last time I can recall was... Well, quite some time ago.” He admitted, irked by how pathetic he sounded.  
“Anyway I told you that this man is not real and I suppose I should explain what I meant by that. Knowing you, you would immediately assume the worst things possible like online dating with a cosplayer or something equally horrible.” Hanzo smiled weakly; imagining Genji's reactions was almost too easy and it stung in a bittersweet way. “No. That man has appeared to me in dreams, which I have thoroughly documented ever since they started. I know you would find that creepy or downright disturbing, but these dreams and that cowboy have been a formidable source of inspiration. Writing what I have lived every night has helped me figure out a lot of things about myself. I have no plans to turn this document into a novel, but I am starting to think I might return to serious writing one day. Maybe-maybe I will let you read my journal if you wake up and remember everything I said.” He sniffed, before reaching in the bedside drawer for the book.  
“Today however you will have to be satisfied with our old story. I realized I did not remember it as well as I thought I did, and I would like to read it again.”  
He actually knew it by heart at this point, he was just searching for an excuse to fill the silence now that he had finished nattering about Jesse.

Reading “The Dragon who wanted to be a Sparrow” once more reminded Hanzo of what they had gone through to start anew in this country. Despite the holes in his memory, he remembered that determining chapter of his life like it was yesterday.  
The apprehension that had clawed at his innards when they had surrendered to the foreign airport security, the fear he would never see Genji again after they had been separated during their custody, the utter bluff he had pulled off with little legal assistance to obtain witness protection for his brother and him. Everything he had been taught to strike deals, every ounce of diplomacy he could muster, all of it had come to play. All the assets of the clan he had known of, some of which were his own, he had given them all away. A few of them first in the process of proving his good intents, then the rest in exchange of freedom and protection.  
Then the regret, the frustration of settling down in a new life under a new identity and working hard for little money, the fear of not making ends meet at the end of the month that still plagued him nowadays, the hope when they had both obtained stable jobs and sufficient wages to be at peace, the freedom sinking in, the excitement of making their first work and getting it published…  
All of it culminating to a struggling writer and his comatose brother.

Once Hanzo was done with the book, he leaned forward and rested his head next to Genji's arm.  
“I wish I could trade places with you.” He murmured, his voice a little hoarse from speaking so much. “You would be fine without me, you are a social butterfly after all. Lots of people would want to help you, and you would gladly let them. I am a hermit in the soul, what would it change if I was literally trapped in my own head?”  
Of course he had friends. But he was a burden on them, they most likely despised him too by now, if they hid their emotions as well as he did-  
Jesse’s words suddenly rang in his brain, like a delicate fūrin moved by a warm breeze. His friends cared, they still did despite how reclusive he had become. Surely they would be just as saddened if Hanzo had been the one lying unconscious on that hospital bed. And Genji would be distraught too, perhaps struggling harder than he was now.  
“I miss you so much, I want you back the exact same as you were. Even your annoying childishness, your reckless parties, your atrocious outfits, your constant interruptions while I work, the video games at 3 AM.” His eyes itched and he blinked the moisture away. He had cried more than enough yesterday. “You meant a lot to me then, you still do now. Never doubt that Otōto, never doubt that.”

Hanzo stayed like this for a long time, until he had the disturbing sensation that someone was watching him. He looked up and found Angela standing in the door frame, staring at him. Her posture was surprisingly unguarded, her shoulders slumped and her hands joined before her. There was a profound pity in her eyes.  
Hanzo felt abruptly hot, angry and shameful. He had no right for compassion when his unconscious brother was lying there in a state far worse than he could ever be. Especially not hers after he had behaved the way he did, it was undeserved and intolerable.

“I must leave. Be well.” He whispered to Genji, resting his limp hand back on the bedspread as softly as he could. Then he sprung up and hurriedly grabbed his belongings.  
He had not heard the doctor arrive, how long had she been standing there? Had she heard everything he said? Did she even understand a word of Japanese? Did she even need to understand what he said with the saddening sight he had been offering?  
Hanzo was slipping. A faraway echo of his father admonishing him for being so distracted rang in his ears like the distant, cold resonance of a gong.

Angela's expression was unreadable as Hanzo walked toward the door. She opened her mouth but the writer rushed past her before she could say a word, eyes cast downward to avoid hers. She called his name and even went after him, but Hanzo pretended he had not heard her. He fled down the stairs, skipping a few steps to descend faster.  
By the time she reached the ground floor, Hanzo was already through the entrance doors and putting as much distance as he could between the hospital and him.

He spent the ride home frustrated and infuriated, rehashing his cowardly escape. Not only had he fled Angela like a criminal caught red-handed, he had also ran from a conversation that desperately needed to happen. He would have to make amends for his ridiculous behavior soon or later, and soon would be a much preferable time.  
But there was so much history between Hanzo and the doctor, he needed time to choose his words and make sure he would keep his cool near her. Their first meeting had started on the wrong foot and they had kept on tumbling whenever they met, another escalation could do serious harm to Genji's chances of staying at the Mercy hospital.

~

_As Hanzo slowly came to his senses, the first thing he noticed was the omnipresent smell of disinfectant and latex. Then he felt a gloved hand touching his face and a prickling in his forehead._   
_He had no idea of his whereabouts, the identity of the person beside him and the nature of what they were doing to him._   
_Acting on his self-preservation instinct, Hanzo snatched the foreign hand and threw his other arm forward to steal whatever utensil was being used on him. But his attempt was abruptly stopped, as his wrist was physical restrained against a metal bar._

_Hanzo did a double take on his surroundings. Instead of a isolated place in disarray, he was in a large hospital room in one of the many beds taking up the space. Some were occupied by other patients, making this hardly the place for an attempt of murder._   
_He finally focused on the person he was grabbing, a young man dressed in hospital wear. Hanzo's memory was fuzzy, but he recalled seeing him in the trauma room; these big eyes and dreadlocks were unmistakable._   
_After the shock of his patient abruptly waking up and grabbing him by the hand wore out, the nurse(?) stuttered nervously: “D-did it hurt? I'm so sorry, I thought I had applied enough anesthetic balm before I started.”_

_Confused, Hanzo released the gloved hand and noticed three more things. His palms were wrapped with gauze, his restrained wrist was actually handcuffed to the side rail of the bed, and his clothes had been exchanged for a hospital gown._   
_Panic clenched around Hanzo's heart like a vice, but he forced his voice to come out steady. “Where am I?_   
_\- Were you not informed upon your arrival? You are at the Mercy Hospital.” The young man replied, speaking slowly with a soothing voice. “You suffered a concussion, which is the wound I was stitching when you woke up. I also took care of the multiple gashes on your palms and your sprain.” He pointed at the brace encasing Hanzo's ankle._

_A man came rushing to them, the word 'security' spelled on his red polo. He had most likely witnessed Hanzo's startle response from afar and seen it as an aggression, for he asked the nurse(?) if he needed assistance._   
_While the young man rapidly diffused the situation, Hanzo paid absolutely no mind to the newcomer, too busy with making sense of what he had been told. He had been injured and sent to a hospital. But what had he been doing beforehand?_   
_Then it abruptly hit him in a flash; Genji's phone call. Their dispute. The car accident._   
_“Where is Genji?” Hanzo asked urgently once the security guard was gone. “My brother, he must be here, he was brought in with me._   
_\- He is currently undergoing surgery, that is all I can tell you I'm afraid._   
_\- What about his injuries? What are their extent?”_   
_The nurse(?) blinked nervously, clearly taken aback by his question. “W-well I know of them, but are you sure you want to hear-_   
_\- Please._   
_\- Alright then... Your brother has suffered a serious trauma. Multiple fractures, severe burns on most of his body and internal bleeding, he had one cardiac arrest-” The young man immediately stopped as Hanzo had shaken hard enough to stir his encased ankle. But he took a deep breath and waved at the nurse(?) to go on. “He had one cardiac arrest but we brought him back. We are working to save him now. Our best surgeons are on the case, your brother is in good hands. In the meantime, hold still and let me fix your wounds, okay? It won't take too long, I’ve only got a couple sutures left to do.”_

_Hanzo nodded weakly, leaning back while the young man changed gloves and cleaned his tools. “What is your name?” He asked to take his mind off the vision of Genji on an operation table._   
_“Lúcio. I am an intern here. Don’t worry, you are not my first patient.” Lúcio added softly when Hanzo tensed. “Just relax and let me know if it hurts. Which reminds me, y-you are Hanzo Shimada right? I recognized you from the photo on the back of your books.”_   
_Had Hanzo been in possession of his whole head, he would have snapped that this was an inappropriate time. But he was still reeling and he needed to focus on something else than the white noise in his ears and the terrible images his own mind kept conjuring. “That is me.” He muttered mechanically._   
_“Wow. I mean, I wish we had met somewhere else but it's an honor sir.” Lúcio smiled, his cheeks a hint darker. “I just finished 'Cat tail and rabbit foot', didn't expect that ending at all._   
_\- Its purpose was to surprise.” Hanzo replied with a small grimace. Not knowing precisely what Genji was going through made it physically impossible for him to smile._

_He tried to cross his arms over his chest, then remembered the cuff around his wrist as he failed to do so. “Lúcio, why am I handcuffed to the bed?”_   
_Lúcio briefly looked down at Hanzo's wrist before he returned his eyes to the stitches. “You don't remember your arrival here mister Shimada?_   
_\- No. I cannot recall it.” The truth was that his memory was hazy at the moment, he remembered little to nothing except confusing bits. But he blamed it on the trauma and figured it would come back to him later._   
_“Well you were pretty confused when you were brought in.” The intern whispered, even though the nearest beds were either empty or occupied by unconscious patients. “When we brought you in the ER you basically freaked out. We actually had to wrestle you against the gurney because you kept trying to leave. You were not making any sense and we-we feared you might aggravate your wounds. Then you backhanded one of the nurses in the struggle. Security was called to back us up, we gave you a light sedative and the police was involved. But they would have been anyway, it's standard procedure for traffic collisions, to establish if it wasn't a hit and run or something like that. But they were told you threw a fit, so they insisted that you should be handcuffed for your well-being and everybody’s safety. Their words, not mine,” Lúcio added sourly, “I tried to convince them you were not a danger, but they wouldn't listen.”_

_Hanzo stared down at the handcuff, boneless. He should be outraged, but he had absolutely no strength left and it would do nothing good to start a fit. “Right. I suppose it makes sense. Thank you though, for defending me.” He replied with a monotone voice._   
_Lúcio looked at him again, blatant concern written all over his face. But he shook his head and examined Hanzo's forehead. “I'll finishing this then I'll try to get some infos about your brother okay? Hang in there.”_

_~_

_Hanzo had no privacy._   
_Because of a lack of room, he was forced to stay in the room with the recovering patients. A curtain had been installed around his bed so he could salvage whatever dignity he had left, but it did not really cut him out from the ambient noise and the police officer that had been assigned to watch him. She had first asked him questions about the accident, then stood by his side as stiff and silent as a statue._   
_All Hanzo could do was to wait for Lúcio, or anyone else really, to come by and tell him if his brother was going to be alright._

_Stress, uncertainty and the backlash of shock made him sick. Three times he had to be handed a bedpan, only to end up dry-heaving while the police officer stared down at him._   
_“Must you stay here at all times?” Hanzo hissed through his teeth after the third time, throwing at her an intense glare to compensate over the pathetic display he was offering._   
_“I was asked to stay with you until we have established that there is no threat on your life.” The officer replied before she put the pan away. “You sure you don't want to call a nurse? Throwing up after a concussion is not a good sign.”_   
_Hanzo had to give her credit for not rising to his animosity and thinking about his wellbeing, but he was hardly in the mindset for that and he doubted she would appreciate it._   
_“That will not be necessary, I am just... I am still reeling.” He muttered between two deep inspirations._   
_The cop nodded understandingly and left him to his breathing exercises._

_~_

_By the time Jack and Gabriel arrived at the hospital, Hanzo still had no news regarding Genji’s state. The surgery had been going on for hours now, and his stress had grown palpable._   
_Lúcio had dropped by like he had promised he would; the intern had been unable to check up on Genji, caught up in another emergency on his way through the ER. However he had brought a cold juice box from the vending machine, insisting Hanzo drank it for hydration and energy. The writer had declined his offer at first, his stomach too sensitive to accept any sort of food or fluid. But the risk of being stricken with hypoglycemia and passing out at the worst time pushed him to accept and sip the beverage as slowly as he could._

_The arrival of Hanzo's editors and closest friends had been a blessing and a curse. The presence of familiar, trusted people brought Hanzo a good deal of relief, and the two fetched him pants so he would feel less exposed. Unfortunately they spent several minutes asking him a lot of questions regarding the accident and Genji's state; most of them were left without answer, because Hanzo himself did not have them._   
_Not to mention that the sight of the handcuffs had made Gabriel absolutely furious. Hanzo had barely listened to the mildly heated exchange between the couple and the cop, but it had eventually amounted to the cuffs being removed from his wrist and a warning that any aggressive or violent behavior toward the medical staff would result in an arrest._   
_After one last checkup on Hanzo, they moved together to the waiting room of the surgical wing. Hanzo had to sit in a wheelchair, which Jack pushed while Gabriel and the police officer walked behind them. The writer had protested against such a policy, finding it almost as degrading as vomiting in a bedpan. But it was protocol to ensure the patient's safety, and the state of his hands forbade the use of a crutch._   
_So he remained as silent as a tombstone all the way to the surgical wing and long after they settled in the waiting room. Jack nervously attempted small talk every now and then, but ultimately stopped trying and leaned in his husband's comforting arms. As for the police officer, she sat down a few chairs away, staring at them without a word._

_Thirty minutes later a doctor walked out of the restricted area and approached them. A blond-haired woman visibly exhausted, clad with a uniform similar to Lúcio's and a lab coat._   
_She seemed vaguely familiar, though Hanzo could not remember where he had seen her. However the heedful glare she threw at him rose an alarm in his subconscious. Perhaps she had been in the trauma room when he had hit a nurse._   
_“Morning, I am doctor Angela Ziegler.” She introduced herself after nodding at Jack and Gabriel. Her thick crocs made her almost as tall as the two men. “Mister Shimada, I see you are out of bed. I would have preferred you stayed there for the sake of your injuries._   
_\- Your intern did a fine job of patching me up, and I could not wait.” Hanzo replied, trying not to lean too wearily on the armrests of the chair. Tiredness was catching up on him in spite of the anxiety hassling his mind. “My brother, did you-were you with him?”_   
_Angela acquiesced. “The surgery ended about ten minutes ago, your brother is being transferred to a different service as we speak.”_

_So Genji was still alive._   
_Hanzo passed a bandaged hand over his face and Gabriel gave Jack a quick hug, the blond openly sighing in relief._   
_Before one of them could say a word, Angela turned to the couple and asked softly: “Excuse me, but are you directly related to mister Shimada?_   
_\- We are the Shimada brothers's next of kin, sort of. They have no living relatives.” Gabriel vouched firmly. “We are allowed to visit Genji, right?_   
_\- If mister Shimada deems it alright. However the patient cannot be exposed to many people at the moment, you will have to wait until his condition improves. Would you mind staying here while I take mister Shimada to his brother? If you'd like to stretch your legs, there is a good coffee shop right across the street.” She offered with a hint of a smile._   
_Gabriel and Jack looked at Hanzo at the same time, a questioning look on their faces. In a short-lived moment of weakness, the writer nearly asked them to stay. He had no idea in which state he would find his brother and the little Lúcio had told him was enough to scare him._   
_But he said nothing, giving his editors a curt nod instead._   
_“I'll get you a tea and something to eat, okay?” Jack smiled hesitantly, while Gabriel reached out to squeeze Hanzo's shoulder. “Gabe, you don't mind filling up for me? If it's too much trouble of course, I can cancel or report the appointments-_   
_\- Don't worry about it, I'll handle it.”_

_Once the couple was gone, Angela walked behind Hanzo and pushed the chair forward. He was thankful that she did so, the state of his hands forbidding he grabbed the wheels, but he was also enervated that he could not see her without twisting his body around. The cop stood from her seat and walked after them, keeping a certain distance from the two to respect the patient-doctor confidentiality._   
_After a few botched attempts to talk, Hanzo regained the ability to talk and cut right to the chase. “Doctor, how is Genji?_   
_\- As I said earlier, your brother has been moved to a different service, namely the burns unit. We successfully stopped his inner hemorrhage and fixed a couple fractures, but the rest will have to wait until his skin is healed.”_   
_They took an elevator, Hanzo waiting until they had reached their floor to speak: “What exactly do you mean by the rest?_   
_\- Genji has three more fractures, two of which require a surgical intervention, on top of superficial and substantial lesions. But his burns have a high risk of infection, thus we must prioritize their healing over everything else._   
_\- Is he-has he regained awareness?_   
_\- No. We are currently keeping him under deep sedation in regards of his wounds. It is my duty as well to inform you that his vital prognostic is still engaged.”_

_Hanzo briefly zoned out, white noise assaulting his ears harder than ever; he knew what that expression meant, he had used it in one of his novels. It was the medical jargon for 'not being out of the woods yet', it meant the patient's state was not fully stable, that their injuries might aggravate and ultimately result in the patient's death._   
_“Anija!”_

_It was not until they were entering the burns unit that Hanzo realized Angela was still talking to him. “Pardon I-what were you saying?_   
_\- I was asking you if you had ingested anything prior to the accident.” The doctor replied. “Your tox screen came back, you had high amounts of stimulants in your blood, namely a derivative of methamphetamine.”_   
_Hanzo threw a glance at the officer following them. It had been one of the first questions she had asked him. “I took Docavine, legally prescribed of course. I had worked all night, Genji called me to pick him up after midnight and I did not want to fall asleep behind the wheel.” He then stopped in the middle of the corridor, frowning. “Doesn't this kind of procedure require the patient's consent?_   
_\- You were involved in a car accident and stated you were the driver. It is standard procedure.” Angela replied. “Do you recall the accident?”_

_Even though that question had already been asked plenty of times, it destabilized Hanzo. He had been about to reply with all the vitriol he could muster, but found himself speechless instead._   
_He still did not recall the accident at all. There was absolutely nothing, as if he had jumped from one moment to the other. He had tried earlier, but his worry over Genji's life had made it impossible for him to focus on anything else. 'Maybe it was a side effect of the shock' he had thought, 'perhaps it would come back later.' But later came and went, and he had not recovered a single second of the lost time._

_“It seems you don't.” Angela surmised, noting something down on a file. “Memory loss and confusion may result from your concussion, but the scan we performed on your head revealed no fracture, swelling or inner bleeding. Of course such an event is psychologically traumatic and it might take some time before your memories return, but it is also possible that the medicine you took before driving is to blame.”_   
_Hanzo's already worn down temper was seconds away from being lost. “What are you insinuating?” He hissed, worried that raising his voice would be enough of an excuse for the officer to arrest him._   
_“I am not insinuating anything, mister Shimada,” Angela spoke with a relative calm, “these are the facts. Factually and in consideration of your constitution, you consumed enough Docavine to overdose. Your blood results showed high amounts of dopant, and further analyses on your hair indicated you have been using this substance over an extended period of time. That points to an unreasonable use beyond recommendations._   
_\- So what? What does this have to do with the accident?_   
_\- The elements I have in hand suggest you could have experienced the symptoms of a stimulant overdose while you were driving. The active compound taken in high quantity can cause psychosis, cardiogenic shock, intracerebral hemorrhage and so on.” The doctor replied with a sudden urgency. “We are unable to ascertain what you experienced in that car without further examination, but there is a possibility that your medication was the inducer of your accident.”_

_Hanzo could see what the facts were pointing at, yet he refused to believe it. He could not believe it, it could not be._   
_“You are saying I caused the crash.” He finally said, his voice fading gradually._   
_“I have never said such a thing mister Shimada.” Angela replied with a more controlled voice. “But I strongly advice you stop using Docavine from now on.”_   
_But Hanzo had had it. He was unable to stand more of this conversation, if this exchange could be qualified as one. “I would like to see Genji now.” He spat, a slight tremor in his voice._   
_A worried frown made creases appear between the woman's eyebrows. “We are almost there but… I must warn you that seeing your brother in his current state will shock you. He is isolated in a special room, you won't be able to approach him. Maybe it would be better to wait until his burns are healed-_   
_\- Now.” Hanzo cut dryly. “If he dies from his injuries, this could be the last time I see him alive.”_   
_Angela looked about to say something, but stepped down and went back to pushing his wheelchair._

_She then opened a door and rolled Hanzo into a small room, empty and bare with the exception of a large window in one of the walls. The cop was asked to wait outside, she obliged without discussion._   
_As Hanzo was brought closer to the window, he saw Genji on the other side in a room almost just as bare, lying down on a bed surrounded with machines._   
_He was barely recognizable._   
_His body was partially covered with gauze and plasters, but the little skin that was in plain air went from unhealthy pale to dark red. A tube had been fixed to his throat, and Hanzo could see his brother's chest slowly heaving and lowering. That slight movement and the screen showing Genji's vitals were the only signs that he was still alive._

_A couple nurses were fussing around Genji, both covered from head to toe and equipped with gloves, hats, masks and goggles. Hanzo barely acknowledged them, his vision tunneling drastically. All he could see was his brother. The extent and severity of his burns and wounds made his own seem utterly ridiculous. How come he had been spared when Genji had been so terribly damaged?_   
_Hanzo stood by the window in a rigid posture, a hand over his mouth while Angela quietly described what was being done to cure the burns. All of it fell on deaf ears, Hanzo's brain focused solely on his brother. It was as if every single one of his senses with the exception of the sight had gone down._

_At some point the doctor stopped speaking, then she gave his shoulder a light pat and left the room._   
_As soon as he was alone, Hanzo stood from the chair and awkwardly limped around like a lion pacing in a cage, trying to summon a coherent thought. The motion hurt his ankle, but he felt none of it; all he had on his mind was Genji, the despair that flooded him, the growing rage of not being able to remember anything and the one question that cut itself into his head deeper and deeper by the second._   
_'Did I cause this?'_   
_Eventually, he caved and slumped against a wall, bawling through clenched teeth and pulling at his hair._

_He stayed prostrated there until Jack found him and hauled him out of the room._

_~_

_Visiting Genji everyday afterward had been a form of twisted punishment, like stabbing repeatedly into a wound just after it stopped bleeding. Even after the burns had been treated, the bones fixed and the lacerations healed, Genji had remained so profoundly marked that Hanzo could barely stand to look at him. And worst of all, long after the sedation maintaining him asleep had been cut off, he had not woken up from his coma._

_Reaching the point where doctor Ziegler had done everything she could to bring Genji back had been hard. “The brainwaves are there,” she had told Hanzo, “but Genji does not react to external stimuli at all. Since his spine received no damage, we do not know what is keeping him asleep. All we can do is to wait and see.” She had even asked Hanzo to take a break from his regular visits, promising she would reach out to him if Genji's condition improved._   
_He had stubbornly refused._

_Beyond that point, his conversations with Angela had stopped mattering. They had mostly consisted of formalities, stale banalities and eventually the same discussion over and over; yes Genji was technically still alive, yes his brain showed activity but no, there was no improvement._   
_Months had gone by like this without any sort of change. Hanzo had not been able to write a single thing, obsessed by the accident, the trial and his nightmares transitioning from weekly to daily._

_Then one day had bluntly shattered the monotony._

_Just after seeing Genji, Angela had led Hanzo into her office and told him with as much tact as she could that it was time to consider euthanasia._   
_She had summed up his little brother's medical file, exposed the absence of progress and emitted her humble opinion that medical care for Genji was becoming futile since it did not benefit him. She had offered her advice, discontinuing the use of any treatment and ultimately allowing Genji a peaceful, dignified death._   
_Hanzo had asked her to explain, even though he had understood every single word she had said._   
_Angela had immediately clarified that she had longly thought about it and wished they would never come to this, but Genji had been in the coma for over six months and any chance of improvement past that mark was null. She had explained the procedure quickly, sedation of the patient followed by interruption of life support._

_Hanzo had remained quiet at first, paralyzed on his seat by unprecedented turmoil. Then, out of despair and blazing anger, he had simply exploded at the doctor. He did not remember half of the horrible things he had said that day, but it had been enough to put an end to Angela's professional restraint._   
_“I am not your enemy mister Shimada, and I am not responsible for your brother’s state! Your behavior is not doing anything to help.” She had retorted in the midsts of the dispute. These words he had dismissed on the moment, but they had followed him all the way back home and kept him awake throughout the night._

_Putting an end to Genji's life had never been brought up again and Hanzo had thanked every deity he knew to be Genji's only family._   
_Upon hearing the news of this dispute, Gabriel and Jack had dragged him back to the hospital so he would see Angela and apologize for the things he had said. It had taken a lot of yelling and wrestling, but Hanzo had eventually bowed before the doctor and recited a diplomatic, but meaningless apology._   
_Her answer had been short and cold; she had asked they put that disagreement aside and discussed on organizing the continuation of Genji's care. Hanzo had silently agreed._

_Gabriel and Jack had never brought up this event afterward; for that Hanzo was grateful, but he could not help but ponder on what they would have done in his shoes. A paranoid side of his brain had wondered if they judged him for challenging the odds, if they thought he was torturing Genji by forcing him to live._   
_He had eventually confronted them on the matter after one misinterpreted glance. But Gabriel had cut short to the hostilities before they could begin, reminding Hanzo that Jack and him hoped that Genji would wake up too one day, and that the decision of putting these hopes away was Hanzo's alone._   
_Then the couple had demanded he consulted doctor Ana Amari, because his mental was clearly wasting away and his writing had suffered just as much; outside of the book he had finished before the accident, he had not submitted a single work to his editors._

_Hanzo's ire had died that day, put out like the flame of a candle and replaced by remorse and guilt. It had been so overwhelming, he had avoided Jack and Gabriel by all means for weeks. That had been the first rift between him and the friends he thought he no longer deserved, because he had mistrusted them even though they had done so much for Genji and him._   
_Eventually he had crawled back to Overwatch Editions and shamefully agreed to his editor's terms, and thus had begun his barely living life as a struggling poet._

~

Today Hanzo deeply regretted his actions. He had never properly apologized for all of his outbursts and his latest argument with Angela only added more regret and self-disgust to the pile. No wonder she had reacted the way she did, he had acted so vile toward her that a proper conversation was almost impossible between the two of them.

He owed Angela for saving his brother and insuring his care, he knew that it was urgent he made actual excuses for everything he had said. But he had not trusted himself to speak back then, the words would have failed him and a botched-up apology was hardly one. Even now he did not know what he could possibly say.  
Resentment dug a hole in his stomach; his evasion had been nothing but a demonstration of cowardice. Although he had followed what he believed to be the best course of action, he still rehashed that thought all the way back to his flat.

Barely arrived, Hanzo bolted to the rooftop and took out his exasperation by minutely riddling his newest target (a moldy dartboard he had found in waste and secured just before its collection) with merciless arrows.  
He kept on training until his fingers were just too numb from the cold to assure a correct shot. The next minutes spent plucking the arrows out of the board were somewhat soothing, Hanzo catching himself humming the Candy Rock Mountain song under his breath.

After warming up his frozen hands around a mug of tea and using what little remained of his frustration to clean his flat, Hanzo spent a quiet afternoon reading his Two fools on a Journey in its entirety. He had only meant to revisit the first entries and ended up going through the whole document, only stopping to turn on a light when the night grew closer, shower and eat a little.  
'We have gone down such a long piece of road, haven't we Jesse?' He thought as he closed the document. 'How much of it do we have left before we get to this treasure? And once we get it, will we stick together or part ways afterward?'

'One step at a time pardner,' a little voice that oddly sounded like Jesse replied in the back of his head, 'don't ya go an' put the cart before the horse.'  
Hanzo chuckled to himself, rubbing his eyes. That was definitely something the cowboy would say.

Exhausted from last night's emotional load and today's contemplation, he stretched and yawned unceremoniously. It was not that late, but he did not think he could keep his eyes open any longer.  
He switched his computer off and dragged his feet to his room, dropping on his futon and rolling himself up in the clean blanket until he completely wrapped.

Unlike yesterday, he was relaxed for the most part. A knot of tension prevailed in his gut, but everything else was at ease. And beneath the drowsiness fogging his brain stirred childlike enthusiasm instead of worry, fueled by the idea of meeting up with Jesse very soon.  
Hanzo was unsure if he would be able to face his partner after breaking down before him, but it did not make him less eager to return to the hills. He could not wait to pursue their journey, or at least enjoy the cowboy's distracting shenanigans.

Hanzo was nodding off when the thought hit him out of the blue; for the first time since he had started taking benzodiazepines, he had completely forgotten to take his diminished prescription.  
However he was so drained and somnolent at the moment, trapped in the confines of his warm cocoon, he fell asleep before he could convince himself to leave the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warnings*:** mention of alcoholism, hints of drug use, bad times in hospitals, survivor's guilt, mention of euthanasia. If you believe more warnings/tags should be added, do let me know in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, a kudo would be highly appreciated! A comment too, if you feel like it ♡ʕ´ᴥ`✿̶̥̥ʔ
> 
> [Check out the fan art these awesome peeps made!!](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/search/lucid%20dream%20fanart)
> 
> Please do comment if you see any mistakes. I do double-check my work, but have no beta-reader so I probably miss stuff.  
> Do not hesitate sharing any suggestions or ideas you think could benefit to the story.  
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://chromatocloo.tumblr.com) if you'd like to scream at me bout McHanzo or [view the artwork I made for the chapters.](https://chromatocloo.tumblr.com/search/lucid%20dream)


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